


All is Calm and All is Bright

by Aleatory



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Angel Gabriel, Christmas Fluff, Family, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt Gabriel, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fic, Slow Build, Snow, hints of destiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 24,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleatory/pseuds/Aleatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a wounded Gabriel has to spend the first few weeks of December in the bunker, Sam thinks he's been sent a "Christmas miracle": fun while it lasts, nothing that'll stay past the twenty-fifth. But as Gabriel shows him how wonderful the season can be, Sam starts to realize that the warmth in his heart has nothing to do with Christmas cheer and everything to do with the Christmas angel himself. Pure Christmas-y fluff and joy with a side of pining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One: Putting Up Decorations

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on ambiguouslygayhusbands' set of Christmas prompts which can be foundat cypress-tree.tumblr.com/post/36866885886/christmas-otp-challenge. Rather than write an individual thing for each prompt, I've strung them together into one story. Enjoy!

December 1st brings about a sharp drop in the temperature, along with a few more flurries of snow: just enough to make driving generally unpleasant. From the looks of it, they’re actually going to get a few good inches of the stuff within the next month; all predictions are for a particularly chilly start to the winter, for Kansas, at least. They've spent the day hunting down and staking a pair of particularly vicious demons, and Sam has never been so glad for the bunker. Heated garage? Breakfast without having to go outside? Enough hot water for fifty showers? Hell yes. 

He emerges from one of the longest, warmest showers of his life, wraps himself in a towel, and is about to pad down to his bedroom when a sound in the living room catches his attention, a rustle and a snarl. If Dean is out drinking again, Sam swears he’s going to actually escort his brother to bed, because not sleeping won’t make tomorrow’s hunt for the demons’ accomplice any easier. 

What he finds instead is a supposedly dead archangel, perched on a ladder and struggling with a string of lights he’s trying to hang along the edge of the room. They’re blinking, illuminating the angel’s profile intermittently, and showing Sam that Gabriel’s already gone to town on the rest of the room. 

Nothing he could say would even start to touch on the many, many questions forming in his head, so he clears his throat instead. Gabriel turns towards him, letting the lights fall awkwardly at one end. There are three little bulbs tucked in the corner of his mouth, but he lets them skitter to the floor when he catches sight of Sam and his mouth drops open. “Either Christmas came early-” Gabriel hops down from the ladder- “or this is the best welcome back party…” His gaze slides down Sam’s body and back up again to make eye contact. “Ever.”

Right. Towel. Sam tightens his grip on the terrycloth at his waist. “That’s not- look, how are you even here?” This doesn't even touch on the issue of the fireplace that’s replaced half the bookshelves on one side of the room.

"Short story? I’m your Christmas angel this year." 

"And long story?" Sam presses.

Gabriel heaves a sigh. “Look, it took most of the mojo I had left to get away from Metatron’s trap, and with heaven going through more turbulence than a jet in a hurricane, I need a place to recharge. Cassie mentioned a bunker, and based on where we were driving, I figured it’d be this one.”

"The bunker is warded."

"Against angels,” Gabriel points out. “Tricksters do what they want.”

Sam watches as he digs through a box of tinsel on the table, one that had clearly come from the bunker’s basement. He recognizes the handwriting on the side. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he states finally.

"I am a bit of an-" Gabriel drags out a fistful of hanging snowflakes by the threads- "anomaly, yes."

Sam's finding that, while he would have appreciated a 'dropping in for a while' notice, he doesn't actually mind the archangel staying for a while. There's plenty of space in the bunker, and Gabriel deserves their help. He toes a ribbon of bells lying at his feet. “If I ask nice, will you explain all the Christmas stuff in our living room?”

"It was going to be a surprise. And don’t worry your geeky self about the bookshelves, they’re all stacked in the library. And in chronological order, you’re welcome.”

"I meant more like why, but I can’t honestly say I object to the fireplace." His wet hair should be getting chilly by now, but the room’s cozy and warm in a way it normally isn't. Considering he’s hanging the rest of the decorations by hand, that fireplace must have taken the last of Gabriel’s power. "Are you some kind of anti-grinch, or…?"

Gabriel snorts. “Nope. Just figured the two of you could use a little peace on earth and joy to the world.”

"Dean and I… we don’t exactly do Christmas." It’s true. He and his brother have tried in the past to have a traditional holiday, but it never seems to work out. Usually it’s grocery store pecan pie and spiked eggnog in a motel room, sometimes an out-of-the-ordinary hug between the two of them. Maybe a cheesy movie about believing in Santa Claus on TV.

"Which is all kinds of shameful," the angel butts in as he makes his way back up the ladder. "Like I said, big boy. This year, you get the actual, genuine Christmas angel. Heard on high and all that."

At this point, Sam’s only options are to fight the current and insist the angel contain his holiday spirit, or just wholeheartedly embrace it. Sam settles for the latter. It’s been too long since Christmas was a day to look forward to.

"If I go put on clothes… would you help me do my room like this?"

Gabriel looks up, a little surprised. His eyes, warm and honeyed with firelight, lock with Sam’s, still reflecting the steady blinks of the light string. He squints a little, as though trying to figure out Sam’s angle, but then smiles, soft and sincere. “Yeah. I’d like that.”


	2. Day Two: Making Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Winchesters debate the merits of letting an archangel chill in their safehouse, Gabriel makes Christmas cards.

There’s a moment, right between waking up and drifting back into sleep, when the boundaries between dreams and reality are swept away. Sam wakes up a few minutes before his alarm and sees stars twinkling above him. It takes him longer than it should to realize that they’re a string of lights draped over his headboard, and that they certainly hadn't been there yesterday morning.  
Memories of the night before come fading back slowly as he sits up and takes in the room as best he can in the near darkness. Long garlands of pine, wrapped in silver tinsel, are hanging from each wall of the room, a shiny blue ornament in each corner. There’s a cluster of reindeer figurines on his nightstand; Gabriel had dug them out of one of the boxes, Sam remembers, dusting them off and calling them ‘Christmas moose’ before establishing a herd of them near Sam’s bed. A golden wire angel is hanging crookedly off the empty gun hook on the wall near the bed.

Sam drags a hand through his hair, pushing it into place. There are probably a hundred good reasons to question Gabriel’s motives, but he’s certainly established his presence here as a positive one. A very festive positive one.

When Sam makes his way out to the kitchen a few minutes later, he’s stopped by Dean in the doorway. “What the hell is he doing here?” Dean mouths, jerking his head over his shoulder at Gabriel. The archangel is lost in concentration, focused on cutting out a paper evergreen.

"Staying, I guess." Sam murmurs.

"And you’re okay with it?" Dean asks, voice still soft. "Because I’m gonna trust your call on this one, but…"

"He just needs a place to recharge."

“‘S’what he told me,” Dean nods. “For a few weeks. But you’re the one who went through this whole ‘mystery spot’ thing, you’re the one with the herpes, so-“

"I don’t have herpes, Dean,” Sam glowers. “And the angel stays.”

They both turn to look in Gabriel’s direction. He’s watching them intently, chin on his hands. “Y’done?”

"Yeah, I guess," Dean grunts, turning away from the conversation to refill his coffee mug.

"What are you working on, anyway?" Sam asks, noticing for the first time that there’s a plethora of papers, cut shapes, and markers spilled across the table.

"Christmas cards!" Gabriel explains, gathering up a few and holding them out. They’re simple, cut paper, generic Christmas cards. Inside is scrawled "Blessings for the birthday of our Savior, and a merry Christmas season," in green marker.

"These are for…?"

Gabriel puts down the scissors again and rubs his hands in glee. “See, some of the pagans are super pissed about the birthday of Christ being celebrated on a day that used to be theirs. They’re pissed about the birth of Christ period. So every year, I send ‘em all a Christmas card.”

"Oh my god," Sam laughs. "Because you were-"

"I was an angel in pagan clothing, my friend. So every year, they get these anonymous Christmas cards, just through the post, and flip shit. I’m talking official councils, temper tantrums, burning parties- overreaction of the century, every year.”

Sam’s laughing so hard now he has to rest his hands on the table to keep himself up. “You’re an asshole,” he gets out.

"It was beautiful," Gabriel says with a self-satisfied grin. "They rage about the whole thing, and one of the major players is right there with ‘em. Glorious I tell you. Anyway, there’s still quite a few of them left, and they’re getting their damn cards this year." Gabriel sticks his tree cutout to the front of a card.

"Do you send like winter solstice cards to the more stuck-up angels too?" Sam asks. "Friendly reminder that their holiday used to be about someone else?"

Gabriel looks up like he’s finally seen the light. “Sam,” he states, looking straight ahead, “you are a diabolical genius. Help me with the angel cutouts, will ya? I've got some pagan rituals to write home about.”


	3. Day Three: Cuddling by the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exhausted Sam takes up Gabriel on his offer of hot chocolate and a Christmas story.

Catching the demons’ accomplice is long and trying and ends in a manhunt through the woods that lasts all night and into the next morning. The guy’s human, but he’s clearly knows his way around the snowdrifted woods, and Dean ends up taking him down with a few pellets full of rock salt. By the time they turn him in to the police, letting their contact with the department handle the legal business behind ‘he was helping demons’, it’s well into the afternoon of December third. It’s cold but windless, and the last rays of sunlight are just showing behind the trees when they pull back into the bunker’s drive.  
Gabriel’s made hot chocolate while they were gone, and Sam also notices that the rest of the decorations are strung up- hanging ornaments and snowflakes, garlands of ribbon-wrapped evergreen boughs, and strings of lights. The one in the corner still hasn't stopped blinking. The fireplace, newly built but already starting to feel like home, was lit, crackling softly and filling the room with a glow warmer than anything the lights could produce. The archangel himself is curled up in front of the fire, three warm mugs on the table in front of him.

"You two dorks want cocoa?"

Dean grunts something about being full of diner food- which Sam doesn't doubt for an instant- and heads down the hall to shower and crash. Sam’s still half asleep from dozing off in the passenger seat, but has to wait if he wants the shower with the good water pressure anyway, so he sinks into the loveseat next to Gabriel and drains half the mug in a few swallows.

"You were busy," Sam remarks, setting the mug back on the table.

"I had fun," is Gabriel’s only reply. "It’s a nice place, but you needed to up the festive factor by about eighty."

"Right." Sam mutters. The warmth of the fire and the cocoa and Gabriel at his side is making him want to fall back asleep, and after last nights woodland adventures, he doesn't blame himself. There’s a tiny wooden nativity scene on the mantle piece, just mother, manger, and a handful of shepherds. One of them is probably meant to be Joseph, Sam decides. Whichever one isn't holding a sheep. 

"Tell me about Christmas," Sam says softly, closing his eyes to the dancing firelight. "You seem to love it so much, you must know something I don’t."

"It’s a little early in the season for the telling of the Christmas story, big guy, but you’re sleepy so I’ll forgive you. Which part do you want?"

Sam shrugs. “Your favorite.”

"Mmm." Gabriel tilts his head back, remembering. "It’s all romanticized, of course- the barn smelled, and Mary barely pulled through. I made Joseph hold her hand. Bitch needed to man up and get on the girl’s level."

Sam makes a little noise of amusement.

"Oh yeah, Mary was hardcore,” Gabriel continues, sounding almost in awe. “Real sweet girl, too. Not a lot of fun, but there wasn't a soul who knew her and didn't like her. She got a lot of scorn, of course, being unwed and pregnant, but the welcoming committee from hell didn't discover who she was until long after the birth, and that’s what matters.”

"So you just… hung around, from annunciation on?" Sam asks, opening his eyes.

"No one spares a second glance to a cousin coming to stay and help around the house, and my vessel and Mary could’ve been sisters, from the looks of ‘em."

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You were a woman?”

"You didn't think I wore this to the party, did you?” Gabriel replies incredulously. “White guy in his late thirties hanging around? Hells no. I was a young Jewish woman back in those days. Didn't pick this up till I ditched outta heaven.”

It makes sense, Sam decides, but the idea of Gabriel wearing anything other than the vessel he’s in now is weirdly foreign. Even having seen Raphael and Michael change vessels, he doesn't want to think about Gabriel in anything else. Sam settles back again.

"Anyway, my favorite bit was the shepherds. Picture a warm, quiet summer’s night out in the fields of Israel," Gabriel begins, stretching an arm in front of him as though painting the landscape. "Picture the shepherds lying in the grass, some sleeping, some watching the peaceful sheep…" A wicked smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "And then I swoop in, bright as day, fireworks are going off, trumpets blaring, telling ‘em the king is born today, hal-le-lu-jah."

"That I can see," Sam smiles. Somehow he’s ended up pressed against the angel’s side, and he’s fighting gravity and sleepiness telling him to rest his head on Gabriel’s shoulder.

"Oh, I was on fire that night, Sam." Gabriel’s voice is suddenly soft and nostalgic. "I belted every song of praise I knew; I was just… so happy." And then Gabriel beats him to it, leaning into Sam and tilting his head down to nuzzle against Sam’s now-warm but still filthy flannel. Sam follows his lead, gently resting his cheek against the top of Gabriel’s head. What feels natural from here is wrapping his arm around the angel’s waist, and he does. They watch the fire together for a long time, and Sam sees fireworks and angel wings twisting in the flames. 

Sam finally has to disentangle himself to go shower, and he’s grateful that his face is already so warm and flushed from the heat of the fire, because he can feel the blush when he thanks the angel for the hot chocolate. Gabriel gives him a simple “G’night, kiddo,” and returns to watching the fire. And just before sleep claims him, Sam finds himself wishing he could have seen all that Christmas joy. Maybe if he’s lucky, he can convince the angel to sing one of those ancient Enochian carols. He wants to feel the fireworks.


	4. Day Four: Buying Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't know what on earth he could get Gabriel. The angel reassures him.

Gabriel has been living in the bunker for a grand total of three days. Sam’s spent at least half that time out on a hunt, and more of it asleep. All in all, not a lot of quality time spent together, but somehow the bunker feels cozier with him around. It’s as though the decorations radiate a sense of home and the angel’s presence physically brightens the gloom. It’s as though the second mug of cocoa, brought to him in the library the next morning when he’s digging for info on the Mark, is warming Sam’s heart instead of his stomach. That’s a ridiculous, sappy thought and he knows it, but he marks the unexpected glow up to Christmas cheer.

It’s only reasonable that he wants to return the favor. He and Gabriel head into town late afternoon, out to pick up some basic supplies for around the bunker and a few groceries. Somewhere along the line they split up, and Sam finds himself standing in front of a shelf stocked with holiday decorations. He wants to get Gabriel something, but he doesn't know what or even why, and the glow of a set of lights had caught his eye. 

Gabriel loves Christmas, even the less historically accurate aspects of it, like holly and snowflakes, but… nothing here quite seemed to fit with what Sam had in mind. There’s snowman shaped everything available, as well as rows of ceramic Santas and elves, delivering presents and checking lists. There are plastic yard reindeer and glowing yard candy canes and generic winter village scenes, with people in vintage clothing trimming generic winter trees with vintage ornaments. There are a good deal of song lyrics on stockings, and ornaments with “peace” and “merry” written on them in glitter.

It’s all so commercial. Even the tiny angel ornaments are nothing like angels should be, depicting blondes with wings in long flowing gowns. Nothing here seems to fit the way Gabriel had described the holiday- the explosion of joy and celebration and light and sound Gabriel had described for him. Nothing Sam could buy could match that. He doesn't know what he’s thinking, really. Gabriel, when he’s at full power, can have whatever he wants. And with everything that’s been between the two of them, he doesn't even know if he should-

"Everything okay, kiddo?" Gabriel’s returned with a cart half full of groceries, and Sam snaps out of his thoughts.

"Sorry. I was just…" Sam glances down. Gabriel’s face is open and genuine, and Sam decides to be honest with him. "I was thinking of getting you something."

"For me?" Gabriel purrs. "Go on."

"I don’t know." Sam shrugs half-heartedly. "The stuff here is kinda tacky, and… you don’t really need anything I could give you."

Gabriel considers for a moment, as though looking for just the words to answer. “Have you ever heard of ‘the thought that counts’?”

"Yeah."

"If you get me something, I’ll love it. Promise."

Sam stands there for a second, feeling almost stupid by how simple Gabriel is making it. “Really?”

"Yes really, moose boy. It’s something you saw and thought of me, and that’s what matters. Besides, it’ll be my first Christmas present." Gabriel pauses, glancing upwards in thought. "Besides the ones to me, from me, because those don’t count. First real present, and from you? Yeah. Safe to say I’ll love it."

There it is again, that stupid sappy Christmas joy and warmth soaring up in his chest at the idea of getting Gabriel an honest-to-goodness present. Before he can respond, though, Gabriel takes his hand and tugs him away from the rack of dancing snowmen.

"Come on, big guy, you can shop later. I’ve got ice cream and I don’t want it melting."

Sam makes his best disbelieving face. “Ice cream in winter? You?”

"Yup." Gabriel’s pushing the cart with one hand and pulling Sam along with the other, since neither can be bothered to let go, and it’s almost impressive. "Not all of us can be this hardcore, but someone has to do it."


	5. Day Five: Buying a Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel wants a tree, and Sam doesn't have the heart to turn him down.

"So Sammy," Gabriel starts, suddenly standing right behind the couch. Sam jumps a few good inches and drops his book, but the angel carries on, stepping smoothly over the back of the couch to sit next to the hunter. "Since we’re talking presents… Everything okay there?"

"You did that on purpose," Sam deadpans.

"I can’t fly in here, I literally just walked over-"

"You’re wearing socks!” Sam accuses. “You did it in the kitchen to Dean this morning, I saw you-“

Gabriel crosses his arms defensively. “My feet were cold!”

"Cold?" Sam splutters. "You’re- you’re practically a god; how could you possibly…" Gabriel’s looked down at his feet wistfully, and Sam suddenly wonders if maybe Gabriel’s really hurt. His only reason for staying in the bunker was that he’d needed a place to crash and recharge, but Sam’s suddenly wondering if he meant recharge as in ‘I need a little R&R’ or recharge as in ‘I’m seriously on the verge of dying and need somewhere I can be looked after by the few people I trust.’ Sam hasn't seen the angel doing any flying since he’d arrived- hell, not even then.

Sam clears his throat and starts again, softly. “Took a lot of grace getting out, huh?”

"It wasn't that, exactly." Gabriel’s voice is soft, but there’s an edge of bitterness under it. "Metatron’s been draining the life outta me for a year or so now, and after he got taken down, I slowly generated enough to break out of the box. He thought I wouldn't have the guts to do what I did, I guess."

"What did you…. do?"

Without flinching, Gabriel looks up and stares Sam dead in the eye. “I hacked off a wing.”

A shiver of dread runs down Sam’s spine. “Oh my god- are you- can you still fly?”

"I flew here, kiddo. Tore it up a bit doing so, but… I’ll mend. Still got five more than the siblings do."

"So in a few weeks you’ll be set to fly out?"

"Should be." Gabriel tires of eye contact, or at least from that angle, because he swings his feet up onto the arm of the couch and settles his head in Sam’s lap. "So. Presents."

"Uh, yeah." It’s hard to get back on the festive track after something like that, but Sam’s damn well gonna try. "Where were you taking that particular train of thought?"

"I cleared out a space for a tree, but all I found in storage was a box of ornaments." He looks up at Sam pleadingly. "So if you really loved me, Sambo, you’d get me a tree."

Sam is resisting the urge to bury his fingers in Gabriel’s hair. “That doesn't have to be your gift, you know.”

"But we are getting a tree. This is happening, yeah?"

——

"This one is a beauty!" Gabriel exclaims, directing Sam’s attention to a tree at least seven feet tall.

"That one also won’t fit on top of the impala," Dean points out. "We’re looking for pint-sized."

"Okay, but if it’s shorter than me, none of you get presents this year."

"Think.. shorter than Sam."

Gabriel glances up at Sam, who’s poking through a box of wreaths at the end of the tree row. “I can live with it.”

They settle on a tree that’s approximately Dean-sized and the brothers heft it from lot to car and then from car to living room, dropping a trail of needles as they go and getting pine sap smeared on everything they own. That’s what it feels like, at least. Gabriel directs, insisting they spin it “about 28 degrees left” or “scoot it over another inch if you could”. As soon as Gabriel’s declared that it’s in just the right place, several feet from the fireplace and tucked in a corner under several hanging snowflakes, Dean heads into the kitchen to call Cas. It’s becoming an evening habit for him.

"I think it’s good," Sam comments, attempting fruitlessly to pick the tree sap off his palms. At the very least, he smells festive. "I’ll bring that ornament box up tomorrow evening after we interview a few people about the disappearances."

"I could do it while you’re-" Gabriel starts, but Sam cuts him off.

"No, you rest tomorrow. House rules."

Gabriel rolls his eyes, but doesn't protest, which honestly surprises Sam. He’d expected a fight. “I’m just used to doing. I’m a busy guy, Sammitch.”

"I’m sure." Sam pauses, drawing a breath, and slowly reaches out to wrap a comforting arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. "But you need rest."

Gabriel groans in mock annoyance. “I should never tell you anything.” But he flops his head onto Sam’s shoulder, and they both find the contentment in it.


	6. Day Six: Decorating the Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gabriel decorate the Christmas tree. Things don't go as planned.

Gabriel claims to have spent the day napping, but Sam notices right away that some of the books in the library have been moved around. A few stacks are on the tables, books Sam hasn't seen yet but look useful, and there are post-it notes on the spines of a few others, slanted, loopy handwriting spelling out author’s names or years or translations. The second they’re done with dinner, Gabriel announces, "I’m bringing up the tree box now."

"Do you want me to do it?" Sam asks.

"I’m not that fragile.” Gabriel starts towards the hall.

"Lift with your knees, dear," Sam calls after him teasingly. The angel turns and gives him a mocking salute before starting downstairs.

Dean’s gathering the paper wrappers back into the take-out bag, but he glances up to watch the little exchange. “You two are doing surprisingly well.”

"I know, right?" Sam agrees. "I kinda thought he’d be a pain in the ass, but when he’s not messing with us, he’s actually fun. I’m enjoying all the festivity."

"Good. You help with the tree then. I’m gonna check in with Cas, let him know we solved this one today." Dean stands, then pauses, noticing Sam’s look. "What?"

"Nothing, I just… I’m glad you’re keeping in contact." Dean narrows his eyes a little but says nothing, eventually shrugging it off.

——

Sam officially hates the Men of Letters. All of them. The top layer of the box holds normal tree things, like a few strings of lights and some round glass ornaments, but the rest is just packed with tinsel. Not the nice kind that comes on a string, either- the loose, shiny strips that get all over everything and stick to clothes instead of trees. 

Gabriel takes one look in the box and lets out a howl of laughter. Sam’d just finished stringing up lights, and looks down at the shiny heap in the box in confusion. “You forgot about the fifties, didn't you, Sammy?” Gabriel grins.

"The… fifties?" Sam crouches next to the box and picks up a handful of the wispy stuff. "Are you kidding me." He gives the box his most disdainful bitch face, which only fuels Gabriel’s amusement.

"Kids these days with their texting and tinsel on a string," Gabriel gets out between bouts of laughter. "Back in my time- Hey!" Sam’s thrown the whole handful of strands at the archangel, and there are currently silvery threads caught in the sweep of his hair and clinging to his hand-me-down shirt.

The end of one is stuck in his mouth, and he splutters for a second before spitting it out and stating, “You’re gonna get it, Winchester.”

"What’re you gonna do, smite me?" Sam snorts.

Gabriel doesn't answer, instead grabbing the biggest fistful of tinsel he can and launching himself at Sam, knocking the hunter backwards onto the floor. “Hey, don’t!” Sam laughs as Gabriel, now crouched over him, rubs the strips into his hair. “Stop it, you asshole, I’m not a tree!”

"You’re as tall as a tree," Gabriel protests as Sam pushes him off. The angel’s out of tinsel at this point, but Sam stops him before he can reach for the box.

"Come on, save some for the tree, man."

Gabriel makes a face. “Alright, some for the tree. We’re even anyway.” It’s true- both of them have tiny strips of silver clinging anywhere it’ll stay, and they look ridiculous. Sam breaks first, tipping forward with laughter, his shoulder bumping against the angel’s as he wheezes

"Aw, Sammy, Sammy. What am I going to do with you?" Gabriel asks, but the laughter is obvious in his voice. As Sam pulls himself back together, Gabriel picks a few strands out of the hunter’s hair and pitches them half-heartedly at the tree. One makes it, tangling itself in the branches. The two of them sit close and whip strings of tinsel at the half-decorated tree, still holding back their laughter at the sight of each other’s silver streaked hair.

Eventually they resort to picking up handfuls and throwing them, although over half don’t make it to the tree, and the few that do are all congregating in one spot in the front. Finally Sam stands, as best he can with his stomach muscles shaky, picks up the box, and dumps the entire thing over top of the tree. He turns around and looks at Gabriel with a stupid grin on his face, ad that’s all it takes for the angel to start hiccuping with laughter once more.

Gabriel tugs Sam back down beside him. “Best tree ever, huh?”

Sam lets out an undignified snort. “This is some kind of tree stripper gone wrong.”

"Yeah, but we made it ourselves." Gabriel leans against him again, and Sam has no desire to move away. It’s been a week and he already wants Gabriel to keep leaning against him like this forever. Even if the things they make end up being god-awful, he’s happy they did this together.

"I've never really decorated a tree before," Sam says, "so I guess it’s a pretty good first try."

"I haven’t either," Gabriel comments. "I never had anyone to decorate with, and there’s only so much fun in decorating alone and showing it to no one."

"So this is your first ‘real’ Christmas too?" Sam asks.

The archangel nods. “Yeah. So far so good, Sammitch. If I’m gonna be here half of December…”

"I’m glad you’re here for December," Sam says softly. "You’re the best Christmas angel ever."

"I better be," Gabriel mutters back. "I’m the original one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tree stripper is one of the greatest things ever created. I'll fight you on this.


	7. Day Seven: Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel finds some mistletoe. Sam finds an excuse to get kissed.

"So get this, Sambo," Gabriel announces as he wanders into the library.

Sam looks up from his book. “I believe that’s my line. You've teased me enough about it to know who it belongs to.”

"It’s called parody law," Gabriel points out, "and it’s totally legal. You went to law school, right?"

"I’m a pre-law grad."

"Adorable." There’s only a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "Anyway. Look what I found under the tree."

Sam closes the book and looks closer at the heap of leafy sprigs in Gabriel’s arms. “Under the tree?”

"Must have been buried under the tinsel you dumped last night. Anyway, the decorating’s about to get kicked up a notch."

"Are those holly leaves?" Sam asks, poking at a jagged dark leaf.

"Some of them," Gabriel purrs, clearly waiting for Sam to guess what the other, white-berried leaves are.

Unless it’s used in spells or salads, Sam doesn't do plants, so Gabriel’s clearly going to be let down. “The winter version of holly. Uhhh… holly that hasn't gotten out in the sun in a while.”

"Mistletoe. The white one is mistletoe. The bunker is about to get exciting," Gabriel says with a dramatic raise of his eyebrows as he marches off to start stringing up all the doorways.

 

Entering any room is suddenly a puzzle- half the doors have the innocent holly, while the rest are adorned with mistletoe, and Sam’s having some trouble telling them apart. He’s leaning in the library doorway with an atlas when Gabriel brushes past him with an armload of books. The angel doesn't jump his bones, so… holly?

"Mistletoe, Sam," Gabriel sing-songs, setting his books on the table. "I’ll let you off with a warning this time since you’re a first time offender."

"Thanks, officer," Sam teases. Gabriel’s shelving books now, muttering under his breath in Enochian, and it’s forcing Sam to deal with some thoughts he’d been trying to shelve- and not in the orderly "I can find this if I need it" way. More like the "fuck no I don’t want these thoughts” kind of way. He actually really likes Gabriel. At first he thought he just needed a friend around, but he’d realized last night just how much he enjoyed the cuddling, and now his thoughts have turned to kissing the angel under the mistletoe.

It’s been a long time since Sam’s had anyone to kiss. Although he’d enjoyed it,he’d felt guilty about everything with Amelia- because of Dean, because she technically had a husband- and before her, there was only Ruby, who wasn't one for soft and sweet by any means. But Gabriel… Sam wants to kiss him, with all the warmth and eagerness and humor that’s been in their newly-formed relationship so far. He wants it to be full of Christmas spirit.

He’s not going to instigate, though. He’s going to wait for Gabriel to give him something a little better than a warning. Sam stands in that doorway with that atlas for at least half an hour, watching like a hawk each time Gabriel carries another armload of books through the doorway, shirting past Sam without even a glance. For fuck’s sake. Sam stretches out his legs a little, hoping to catch Gabriel’s attention.

Gabriel trips. Sam catches him before he goes sprawling, but the books tumble to the library floor and Sam’s atlas flutters its way down next to them. “Oh my god- I’m so sorry- I didn't mean-“

"I’m alright," Gabriel brushes him off. "Lucky catch." There’s a little squirm of guilt in Sam’s stomach, because he hadn't even thought of- "Oh, and Sam?" Gabriel interrupts his thought and he looks down at the angel questioningly.

Gabriel leans in a little closer and whispers, “Mistletoe.” Before Sam can even react, the angel stretches upwards and gives him a quick peck on the tip of his nose. Gabriel beams, somewhat self-satisfied, as he turns his attention back to the books.

If he’d thought Sam would blush and just accept it, he was wrong. Sam tugs him back by the shoulder and says softly, “That was a really disappointing mistletoe kiss.” And without another word, he reaches behind the archangel’s head, letting his fingers slide into the soft hair, and kisses him passionately, other arm coming up to pull Gabriel in closer. It’s clearly unexpected behavior on his part, but Gabriel kisses back, greedily, within the first few seconds, and he grips the back of Sam’s plaid like it’s the only thing holding him to the ground. All that matters is that he has his mouth on Gabriel’s stupidly enticing upper lip, sucking and scraping his teeth against it, pausing only to press a frenzy of ill-coordinated kisses to Gabriel’s eager mouth.

Sam doesn’t pull away until the need to breathe overwhelms him. “And that,” he pants, “is a mistletoe kiss.”

Gabriel looks dazed, upper lip reddened where Sam had been giving it attention. “Yeah.” He blinks a few times, as though he can’t quite believe Sam would- “That it was.”

Sam clears his throat awkwardly. “So, the… the books.” The reality of what he’s done is sinking in. “That was my bad, I can help…” 

Gabriel glances down at the scattered books, then back up at Sam, and says finally, “Worth it.”


	8. Day Eight: Making Snowmen (And Snow Angels)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow falls in Lebanon, Kansas, and Gabriel's eager to show Sam how to make a snow angel the right way.

The night of the seventh brought at least six inches of snow down on north Kansas, and although Dean comments that it’ll likely melt away within a few days, it makes the decorations in the bunker feel more at home. The clearing in the trees around the bunker is a vast expanse of glittering fluff, and the trees are all lined with white. Normally Dean would be complaining about poor baby being outside in the stuff, but they have a garage now- a heated one- so he’s sipping coffee and flipping through the paper contentedly when Sam wakes up the next morning.

It’d been something of a long night. He’d taken a few books and retreated to his room alone, trying to get through them, but constantly pausing to think again about what he’d done. Sam had kissed an archangel. While Gabriel wasn't big on personal space, he’d still looked so confused and surprised by the action that Sam had decided it best to stay away from him that evening, even though they’d planned to sit by the fire again.

The bright newness of the snow, however, makes it feel like even more of a fresh start than morning usually does. Gabriel hurdles into the kitchen and orders that they take the day off from hunting and play in the snow while it’s still on the ground, and Sam doesn't have the heart to deny him. There’s only one vic, it’s a state over, and the trail is years old and cold. It can wait.

Dean’s still over-eager to get back to ‘saving people hunting things’, however, so he passes and heads out to plow the fluff out of the driveway so he can head out. Gabriel and Sam bundle up in a coat and a hat each before wandering into the clearing. 

"Oooh, it’s a big enough space for angels," Sam says, delighted. He glances at Gabriel. "The snowy ones, I mean. Like- lie on the ground and wave ones."

Gabriel tilts his head consideringly. “Just gonna make it, I think. Let me show you how it's done.”

"What?"

Without any further answer, the angel runs halfway out into the clearing, leaving sneaker prints behind him and scattering light flakes everywhere, and turns and flops onto his back in the snow. Sam walks over to stand at his feet, curious. “Making a snow, angel, Sammitch.” Gabriel’s eyes are closed in concentration, and as Sam watches, the imprints of enormous wings start to appear in the snow at his sides. “Now pull me up,” Gabriel insists, and Sam takes both hands and lifts him off what is now the most incredible snow angel the hunter’s ever seen,

The snow is squished down where Gabriel’s body was, as it would be with anyone, but the wings are lightly traced there, as though they were manifested just enough to brush the snow aside. Still, Sam can see the outlines of each feather, from the downier ones at Gabriel’s sides to the foot long primary feathers at the tip of each wing. Each imprint has to be at least twenty feet long, and Sam traces each one with his gaze, drinking in how impossible and wonderful they are.

There are only five. Wing six, the top one on Gabriel’s right, ends after a foot or so in a feathery stump. Sam had almost forgotten, and in a way, he wishes he still had. He hates thinking about what the angel had endured before he’d crash landed in the bunker and busied himself with decorations. He wonders if the decorations had been a distraction from pain. He wonders if they still are.

Gabriel is undaunted- either he hasn't noticed Sam’s sudden pity spiral or is pretending not to. “Now you make one.”

"Yeah. Right." Sam makes his angel with the feet facing Gabriel’s, waving his arms and legs to make the wings and robe, even though he knows Gabriel’s is the more accurate version. The angel pulls him up before the back of his jeans can get entirely soaked, and surveys Sam’s work.

"Not bad. But if we want to be fair, we have to make a snowman too. That we we've got one of each of us."

Sam likes the idea of documenting their snow adventures like this, even if he knows it’ll melt away soon, and agrees happily. For the first part, they scrape together enough snow to make a mound, and then turn to making a large snowball to put on top. It’s the wrong kind of snow, though, too light and powdery to roll in their hands, and it disintegrates every time they try to balance it on the base.

By the fourth time, Gabriel accepts that they’re not getting any further than a snowman butt and sits down in the snow, leaning against the mound. It shifts a little, but doesn't crumble entirely. Sam tries to lean against it and it makes an ominous snow sound, so he somehow ends up with his head in Gabriel’s lap. He blames the warmth. 

Sam’s still just relishing in the puff of his breath and the feeling of wet and cold just beginning to edge through the back of his jeans, and Gabriel says suddenly, “We’re cool, right?”

"Huh?"

"You and me. After all the crap I put you through… we’re cool?" For once, Gabriel isn't making eye contact, but instead leaning back against their failed attempt at a snowman.

Sam lets his memory flick rapidly through ‘the good old days’ with Gabriel- meeting at the college (interest, disappointment), the mystery spot incident (anger, gratefulness), discovering who the angel was (confusion, empathy), the final stand at the hotel (relief, loss, guilt, grief)-

“Yeah, of course we are,” is all he says.

"All of it, Sam. Mystery Spot, TV Land." Gabriel is suddenly stern. "You swear there are no grudges?"

"You died for us," Sam says slowly. "And your heart was in the right place. I… forgive you, yeah."

"Good." Gabriel breathes a sigh of relief. "Because otherwise this friendship is gonna be real awkward. And by the way- no hard feelings over those times you tried to drive a stake into my chest. In context, it was the logical thing to do."

It feels nice, the sudden assurance of a clean slate. It matches the fresh newness of the snow, and Sam huffs out a matching relieved sigh. It also means maybe yesterday’s incident is forgiven and forgotten. Well. Forgotten by the the angel, anyway. Sam’s still replaying it in his head.

They lie in the snow a few minutes more. “I don’t know about you,” Gabriel says suddenly, “but my jeans are soaked. Fire?”

Sam sits up. “I’m all for fire. More cocoa, if you got it.”

"I’m not a full-service drink bar, y’know."

Sam helps him to his feet. “Yeah, but you can’t resist my puppy eyes.”

"You can’t prove-"

"I said please and you gave me my brother back. You can’t lie to me on this one!"

"Okay, but let’s make this perfectly clear- I was gonna give him back anyway. You just… sped it along a little.” They make their way back into the bunker, bickering good-naturedly. Sam counts the argument as a win, though, because after stripping off his winter gear and soaking wet jeans, Gabriel goes straight to the kitchen and makes hot chocolate while Sam starts the fire.

Both of them have damp hair and neither is wearing pants, and it’s only early afternoon, but curling up together in front of the fire after their snowy adventures feels right. Sam would be okay with it snowing more often in Kansas.


	9. Day Nine: Wearing Ugly Christmas Sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel finds a box of sweaters. Sam is a dumb egg who is slowly realizing his giant crush.

Dean doesn't come back from the case that night, calling Sam and letting him know he’s staying in a motel closer to the site, so Sam and Gabriel have the night to themselves. Gabriel pleads until Sam agrees to let him order pizza (“Yeah, and uh, every vegetable you got on the other half; my friend’s a loser nerd plant-eater.” “Hey!”) and they spend the night researching. After their day off, Sam wants to put in an evening’s work, and Gabriel is content to keep him company.

 

"Sam. Samson. Samasaurus." Sam slowly sits up in bed, wondering why the hell Gabriel is in his room and also what’s in the box. "Samuel Moose Winchester. Sammy baby. Sam-I-am."

"I’m awake, I swear," Sam grumbles, clicking on his bedside lamp. "Wha’s the box?"

"Guess what I found tucked in one of the bedrooms."

"More tinsel?" Sam asks, rubbing his eyes.

"You’d like that, wouldn't you?" Gabriel accuses. "You just want to make it rain on our tree again."

"Oh yeah," Sam mumbles, scratching the back of his head sleepily. "Make it rain on that tree any day."

"Perv. Anyway, I found an entire box of ugly sweaters and we are trying these on. Right now."

"I haven’t had breakfast-" Sam protests. Also he’s in his boxers and sporting some decent morning wood, which a simple trip to the toilet would fix- but Gabriel’s standing right there, raving about sweaters. "Bring me coffee first and I’m in." Gabriel makes a face but agrees, and Sam slips into the bathroom while he’s gone.

When Sam gets out, Gabriel’s digging through the box already, and there’s a mug of coffee on the nightstand, one cream one sugar, just how Sam usually takes it. “Okay, okay, but look at this one.” Gabriel hauls out a bright red sweater with “Dreaming of a white CHRISTMAS” on the front and tiny yarn snowflakes stitched all over the rest of the sweater. “Some secret librarian agent in the fifties wore this.”

Sam wrinkles up his nose. “It smells like mothballs.”

Gabriel tentatively raises one hand and snaps, and the scent of pine wafts into the room. “See that, Sam? It’s all coming back to me, baby. I should be powered up again in two weeks, maybe less.”

Sam is quiet, counting out the days. In two weeks, it’s the twenty-third. Gabriel damn well better not leave before Christmas, Sam thinks. Hell, he doesn't like the thought of Gabriel leaving at all. “Your shirt’s a mess,” he comments finally.

"Slept in it," Gabriel says. "It’s chilly and none of your hand-me-downs included proper sleepwear. Anyway- I think I see something purple at the bottom…" Gabriel starts digging in the box and Sam makes a mental note to do something about Gabriel’s cold bedroom issue. Crawling in bed with him is not an appropriate answer, he reminds himself. Loaning the angel one of his old hoodies might be. He kind of likes the idea. 

He also kind of likes what’s happening next to him, Sam realizes with a jolt. Gabriel’s started unbuttoning the front of his plaid sleep shirt. “Royal purple with the star of Bethlehem and sheep. This is going on my body, thank you.” He shrugs out of his shirt and messes around with unfolding the sweater, and…. oh man. Sam knows it’s just a vessel, but Gabriel has the perfect balance between lean and soft, the perfect angle down from shoulder to waist. Sam’s suddenly feeling that morning wood coming back with a vengeance. 

Gabriel’s got his arms into the sleeves of the sweater, but he seems to notice Sam’s staring, because he pauses, body of the sweater rolled up on his arms to make a face at him. “You’re not getting out of this. Try one on or I don’t let you sleep tonight.”

"Like you don’t sleep more than any angel I've ever met," he fires back, distracting himself from some earlier, less safe-for-work thoughts.

Gabriel tugs the sweater fully on before replying. “Tricksters sleep. I’m duel-nature. Try the green one right on top- it has holly and snowmen on it.”

Sam hates how goddamn good Gabriel looks in a sweater. Hates it deeply. “Looks a little narrow across the shoulders, honestly.”

Gabriel digs back in the box and pulls out something navy blue with white patterns across the front. “XL with Christmas moose?”

"Reindeer."

"Details! Put the sweater on. I’m trying on the brown one." Gabriel starts stripping again, and Sam stands there, holding the Christmas moose sweater and staring stupidly.

By the time Gabriel’s squirmed into the gold trimmed, tree adorned sweater, Sam’s more than a little twitchy and aroused. He wants shirtless Gabriel under him and making happy sounds at the touch of Sam’s mouth- or maybe over him, he can’t even decide.

The archangel stops, sweater still bunched around the top of his chest. “I know I’m a looker, Sam, but we’re already in the bedroom. There’s no need for the bedroom eyes.” There’s an undertone of sarcasm to his voice. 

Sam clears his throat awkwardly. “Sorry. Zoned out, I guess.” He pulls on his own sweater, and is pleased to find that it fits pretty well. Aside from the fact that they look like Christmas-y dorks, breakfast proceeds from there as normal. 

Dean calls- another vic, fresh, and Sam should probably come in one of the bunker’s cars to check this one out. He brings a duffel, knowing he’ll probably have to stay in a motel, and packs a change of clothes for when he gets there, because there is no way he’s taking this sweater off for the car ride. Gabriel’s sheer enthusiasm at seeing him in it had convinced him to keep it on as long as possible. Sam puts on a Christmas station and sings loudly and badly and cheerily and relishes in the fact that miles away, Gabriel is probably doing the same- and in a sweater only he could make look good, too. It’s the best alone drive of his life.


	10. Day Ten: Baking Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baking cookies, eating cookies, decorating cookies, snail noodle, rimming references- it's all in there.

Dean teases him mercilessly when he puts the sweater on the next day, but they have to drive separately anyway, so Sam gets a break from his brother. He’s really beginning to like the thing, tacky though it might be, with all its festive leaping reindeer and tiny white snowflakes. It’s also warm and soft enough that Gabriel keeps touching it (and Sam, by extension), which is a nice bonus. He’s slowly accepting the fact that he likes Gabriel touching him a lot more than he maybe should.

The bunker smells sweet when they return. When they walk into the kitchen and see the rows and stacks and bins and pans of cookies spread out across the counter, it’s a sight for sore eyes- or, rather, a sight for empty stomachs. Dean grabs something chocolate-y off the counter and, biting into it, nudges Gabriel’s shoulder. “You can stay,” Dean says around a mouthful of cookie, “as long as you want, man. This is like-” he swallows- “some of the good stuff mom used to make. Can’t beat homemade.” He heads down the hall to shower, and Sam watches him go, smiling a little. Dean’s in a good mood, and he hadn't violently hacked anything apart today either. Maybe Dean’s right and the mark is lying dormant. Sam can only hope.

"You a peanut butter person?" Gabriel asks by way of greeting, and Sam turns his attention back to the apparent cook. He’s in the purple sweater again, with a plain white apron, dusted with what looks like cocoa, tied over his clothes.

"Love it." He crosses the room on instinct, then catches himself- he’d been about to plant a kiss on Gabriel’s cheek. It felt natural, like he used to get home from late class and kiss Jess, or like Amelia used to get home from work and kiss him. Gabriel looks expectant, and Sam takes a desperate glance at the nearest doorway before kissing the top of Gabriel’s head.

"Mistletoe," he explains, trying to keep his tone teasing. It doesn't work.

"That’s holly, actually," Gabriel says softly. He’s still looking up at Sam warmly.

"I get them confused." Sam shrugs a little, knowing full well he doesn't actually get them confused anymore. He breaks the moment by clearing his throat. "Anyway, what’re you all making out here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Gabriel responds cheerfully, stepping away from Sam and back towards the oven. "Taste and find out."

"Dude, there’ve got to be at least eight different kinds of cookies out here. I am not taste testing everything."

"There are ten, and if I can do it, you can do it," Gabriel insists, pulling another pan out of the oven. "Try the green sugared ones." Sam takes a bite just as he adds "It’s a snickerdoodle."

It’s suddenly all Sam can do to not laugh and spit cookie crumbs everywhere. “What the fuck kind of cookie name is that?”

"German. Means ‘snail noodle’. Eat the cookie, Winchester."

"It’s good," Sam reassures, taking another bite. "So are you just killing time in here, with all the baking?"

Gabriel shrugs. “It started out that way, yeah. But now it’s just because I need a Christmas break. As much as I planned on hounding you two about never stopping the family business, I outta take some time to lay low too, y’know?”

"See, I thought if you were going to hound us about our lack of breaks, you’d teach us a lesson by making us work ourselves to death or something. It seems more… trickster."

"I’m an archangel, Sam. It’d hardly be fitting for me to work you to death on Christmas.”

“It’s the tenth.”

"Point stands- you two are working yourselves to death already, no intervention needed."

"Tell you what," Sam offers, suddenly remembering what he has in the trunk of the car, "tomorrow we've got what should be a simple salt and burn to take care of, and then the two of us can sit by the fire and have eggnog and cookies. Yeah?"

"Is there rum?"

"Yup. Even picked up some peppermint schnapps, just for you."

"That’s my Sam!" Gabriel turns away to pull the last pan from the oven. "Now clean up, because you’re helping me decorate the cutouts."

——

Gabriel holds up a reindeer cutout, “Look Sam, it’s you. I’m giving him a little frosting sweater.”

Sam digs around the cookie pile until he finds an angel. “Look, it’s you,” he deadpans, and bites off one of the wings.

He expects Gabriel to say ‘harsh’ and move on, but Gabriel grins cheekily and says, “Sam, if you wanted to eat me, there are better places to do it than the kitchen table.”

Sam chokes on the cookie wing and Gabriel cackles wickedly, carrying on with the frosting sweater making.


	11. Day Eleven: Snogging by the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets drunk. Drunk Sam has a fascination with Gabriel's lips...

"Salt…" Sam mutters under his breath as he dumps several handfuls of the stuff into the opened grave. Dean closes the trunk of the impala in the distance, shovels tucked back inside. He’ll bitch about that later because it’s muddy out- the snow has melted- but at least mud means the ground is soft enough to dig through. Luckily for them, the ground isn't frozen solid yet. Sam pours lighter fluid down into the open coffin, then strikes a match and drops it in after. The body goes up with a woosh. "And burn."

"Should we cover it back up, you think?" Dean asks, approaching out of the darkness.

"We’re too far away for anyone to pin it to us." Sam shrugs. "I’ll kick some of this back in to put the flames out, but it should be okay. I wanna head home."

"Oh yeah, you've got a hot date tonight, don’t you?"

Sam rolls his eyes, starting to kick at the heaps of dirt next to the grave. “It’s not a date, Dean. I just agreed to make eggnog tonight.”

"Whatever keeps your pride intact, man."

—-

"I made schnapps hot chocolate," Gabriel announces when Sam gets back to the bunker and collapses by the fireplace. There’s already wood and newspaper piled there, ready to start, but the idea of lighting it is strangely exhausting. The digging, the ‘shit i think that’s a cop get out of the graveyard now’ adventure (it wasn't a cop), and the car ride back have worn him out more than he realized, and he mostly just wants to curl up here and maybe listen to Gabriel’s story telling.

The fire starts with a roar, and Sam turns to look at Gabriel, hand still raised. “Getting there.” He settles himself on the couch next to Sam, pouring himself eggnog. “I already gave it some kick, so help yourself. Oh, and-” he snaps, and the plate of cookies from the counter teleports to the coffee table. “Now this- this is what I call an appropriate dinner.”

Sam smiles appreciatively and takes another swig of hot chocolate. It’s minty but warm, and he can taste the sweetness of the cocoa and the sharpness of the alcohol, blending together in a swirl of chocolate mint. He could down a lot of this easy. 

"You’re talkative tonight," Gabriel remarks. "Let me get a word in edgewise, would ya big guy?"

"Sorry." Sam drains the rest of his cocoa in one go and reaches for more. "It’s been a long day."

"I’ll clean up if you wanna go to bed."

"No," Sam insists. "I like it here by the fire with you. And I’m not really ready for sleep yet."

Gabriel regards him from under one raised eyebrow. “You want a story?”

Sam hums softly. “Yes please.” Gabriel’s stories are always the best, and he never knows if they’re going to be angel stories, or pagan stories, or ‘that time I was in Tokyo a few years ago’ stories. Tonight’s one of the pagan ones, something about a few African gods Sam’s never heard of. It doesn't make a lot of sense, but then again, Sam’s had a lot of cocoa by the time Gabriel reaches the conclusion. A lot of cocoa.

"So he’s still stuck there, holding all the arrows in midair, right, and my cell phone goes off- it’s the florist. The fucking florist was calling me, and we've got cheetahs on all sides, y’know, and- Sam?” The hunter is slowly leaning towards the angel, eyes slightly unfocused but clearly honing in on Gabriel’s lips.

"Keep going," Sam slurs, sounding confused as to why Gabriel would stop. "Your voice is so nice, wanna watch you talk."

"I think you've had enough schnapps," Gabriel cautions, leaning forward to move the pitcher to the far end of the coffee table. What he’s not expecting is the sudden, dry brush of Sam’s lips against his neck, just under his ear. "Sam." His voice suddenly isn't his own- Gabriel’s voice doesn't catch like this, doesn't sound desperate but despairing but ragged at the same time, all pouring into one word. Because Gabriel doesn't say just one word unless it’s important.

Sam leans in a little further, not quite as coordinated as he’d like himself to be. He wants to whisper in Gabriel’s ear, but his mouth brushes over the lobe, and he can smell his own breath against the side of Gabriel’s face. He doesn't like that, would prefer to smell Gabriel. “I like what you… say, how you say things… lots of you things.” Sam breathes. His voice isn't his own, either; he doesn't normally slide over his words like this.

Gabriel has pulled back from the table, and Sam follows, clumsily, because he just wants to be near Gabriel, he just really wants his mouth on Gabriel, and he shouldn't do that without asking. He moves to his knees, and brushes his mouth against Gabriel’s ear again as he says, “Can I…” Sam pauses, searching for the word he wants, because ‘kiss’ isn't quite it. “I forget wha’i’s called. I’s…” Describing is too hard. He’s had too much too fast, he realizes, but he’s sleepy and cuddly and the easiest way to describe is to do. Sam leans in and presses his mouth to the side of Gabriel’s neck.

Gabriel whimpers. "Sam, I can’t let you- nnn." Sam scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin, then pauses to kiss again. He’s always been a good kisser, and even drunk, he does his best to the little spot on Gabriel’s neck that he’s decided is his favorite.

"Wanna do more," he says, pulling back.

"You’re drunk, Sam." Gabriel says, voice suddenly stern. His eyes are wide and his pupils make his irises a ring of gold. "I can’t let you do this when you’d never-"

"What if I wasn’ drunk?" Sam asks.

"Then you wouldn't be interested in me," Gabriel mutters under his breath. "Sam, I think you should go to bed before-."

Sam wants to explain that he’s always interested in Gabriel, sober, drunk, always, but the words aren't there. Whatever he wants to say isn't forming, and he settles for the easiest option of explanation, tilting his head, lunging forward and around to press his mouth to Gabriel’s.

The angel lets out another sound, this one longing and conflicted, and Sam brushes his tongue against Gabriel’s closed lips, sloppily but eagerly, because he really does want this, no matter how convinced Gabriel seems to be that this is a bad idea. The angel is kissing him back now, still letting out soft moans under Sam’s touch. He tastes like eggnog and chocolate mint and alcohol and something not quite human, because he isn't, and Sam reaches down for one of his arms, hoping to bring it up and make Gabriel touch him, because he’s holding himself back and Sam can’t figure out why-

Gabriel’s hand jerks up and taps Sam’s forehead, quick, and Sam falls to the couch, head cradled in the angel’s lap and fast asleep.

If he’d been awake, he would have seen the angel look at the raised hand as though it had offended him, contemplate it, then finally lower it to rest on Sam’s hair. “Oh, Winchester,” he sighs under his breath. “You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incredible Josefir DREW the end of this chapter and it is stunning. I'm still blown away. See it here- http://josefir.tumblr.com/post/105064119350/aleatoryws-christmas-otp-challenge-thing-is


	12. Day Twelve: Watching a Classic Holiday Film

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, plagued by guilt, locks himself in his room. Gabriel drags him out to watch 'It's a Wonderful Life'.

Sam slowly, blearily opens his eyes and is confronted by a woolly cream sheep. What. He blinks a few times, moves his head back a few inches, only to confirm that yes, that’s a fluffy yarn sheep staring him down from the front of… Gabriel’s sweater. He shifts a little, getting his bearings and realizing that his head is resting in Gabriel’s lap, and the angel is dozing above him. The fire’s gone out and his feet are cold.

Thing is, Sam doesn't remember falling asleep there. He’d been drinking- the dirty mugs and half-empty bottles are on the table- but he hadn't had enough to pass out, he’s pretty sure, and the couch really isn't big enough to sleep two. Why he’d ever decide this is a good place to lay his weary head to rest is beyond him. Why Gabriel’d let him is also beyond him, unless he’d been too entertained by drunk Sam to send him to bed.

Sam slowly pushes himself up to sitting and rubs his eyes. It’s gotta be early dawn by now, judging from the light just starting to creep through the windows on the upper floor, and the beams illuminate the last puzzle piece his brain needs to let the memories of last night flood back- a small red mark on the side of Gabriel’s neck. 

Horror settles in his chest like a vulture, big and ugly and preying on Sam’s innards, from the feel of it. He’d gotten drunk and he’d assaulted Gabriel. He’d done what was unthinkable for him and gotten handsy with someone who hadn't wanted it, and Gabriel must have knocked him out to get him off. Sam shudders, disgusted with himself. He has a whole laundry list of things to be guilty about and this is the new number one- got drunk and tried to make out with a guy who’s just trying to make his first real friend.

The longer he stares at that little hickey, the worse he feels, so he silently gets up from the couch and pads down to his room. Just as he’s pulling the door closed, he hears Gabriel’s voice from the living room, calling after him softly. “Sam?” Sam closes his bedroom door as quietly as he can.

——

Sam’s been working on mark research as long as he can remember, slipping out of his room only to use the bathroom and ignoring the angry snarls of his stomach. Gabriel’s in the kitchen. He’s swapped his sweater for a t-shirt, too, because wearing it feels wrong after what he did- given the fact that Gabriel had pulled it out of the box for him. He’s basically sitting in front of the open book and feeling guilty when there’s a knock at the door.

Gabriel’s standing there, looking concerned. “You haven’t had a break in a while, so you should come watch It’s a Wonderful Life with me.”

It’s so unexpected that Sam lets out a woosh of laughter. “You’re kidding.”

"No, I’m not, it’s back from commercial break in like, two minutes. Get your sorry self out here. I made dinner, by the way. In case you’re, uh… into that."

They sit in the kitchen and watch in near silence, and finally Sam forces himself to ask, “Are we okay?” He doesn't take his eyes off the screen- a commercial for hair loss supplements.

"We settled this the other day, yeah," Gabriel responds looking at him sideways. "We’re cool." There’s a long pause. "Okay with last night, you mean?"

Sam swallows. “That one.”

"Look, Sam, I’m sorry," Gabriel starts, and Sam turns to look at him. "I never meant to get you drunk."

“You’re sorry?” Sam asks incredulously. “I’m the one who-” Sam pauses, not even sure of the correct word. “I’d never do something like that sober,” Sam rushes, suddenly desperate to convey how much he regrets what he did. “I didn't mean it, I swear, and it won’t happen again.”

There’s a certain heaviness in Gabriel’s face, and Sam doesn't know why. “Yeah, I know you wouldn't do that sober.”

"And we’re okay?"

"We’re okay. Now hush, the movie’s back." Gabriel leans forward in his seat. "We’re still in the flashback part."

"You must have seen this before," Sam says, still watching the angel instead of the movie. "I’m pretty sure everyone in America has seen this movie at least once."

"Doesn't make it any less glorious."

"Meg used to call Cas ‘Clarence’," Sam remembers. "I never really thought of him as Clarence, though. Clarence kinda reminds me more of you."

"Me?" Gabriel jerks his attention from the movie.

"Yeah, if you were a little less off-the-wall and a touch more incompetent." Sam shrugs. "Guy doesn't see the value of what he has, so this angel decides to teach him a lesson by zapping him to a world where he never existed. Sounds pretty ‘trickster-angel’ to me."

"George Bailey saw the value of what he had,” Gabriel corrects. “What he didn't see is the value of himself. If it was the first one, I’d zap him to a place where he didn't have all his stuff.”

"Still. This is your unique brand of dickish move," Sam points out.

Gabriel crosses his arms. “Yeah, but Clarence always has his heart in the right place.”

"Still sounds exactly like you," Sam offers with a little smile. Gabriel clearly doesn't have a retort, because he gives Sam only his mildly disapproving face. "So, can I call you Clarence?"

"Hell no." The angel pauses. "Okay, yes, but only if I get to call you George Bailey."

"Not happening."

"Come on, it fits! Self-sacrificing little brother who’s drastically in need of a wake up call to his own importance. That’s you, Sam Winchester, whether you want to admit it or not."

Sam’s quiet for a minute. He’s spent most of the day beating himself up about last night, among other things, and it seriously feels like Gabriel’s trying to convince him to stop. Because he’s loved and valued, or something like that. Pointing this out through a Christmas movie sounds exactly like Gabriel’s version of addressing the issue. “George was the older brother,” he finally replies.

"But if I jumped in a river, you’d jump after me and save my ass, wouldn't you?" Gabriel presses.

"Yeah." Sam says, giving in. "I would."

"There ya go. I’m Clarence, you’re George, and we’re making this whole damn movie together."

Sam waits about thirty seconds before he leans over and flicks the tiny jingle bell stitched into Gabriel’s sweater of the day. “Every time a bell rings…” he sing-songs.

"Don’t you start with me, Bailey."

Sam’s seen it several times through before, but they watch together anyway, throwing little quips each other’s way, and Sam’s world feels brighter.


	13. Day Thirteen: Singing Something Festive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet- Gabriel convinces Sam to sing in the car.

"Does this poor thing even have a radio?” Gabriel asks, turning down the blaring Led Zeppelin that starts with the car. “Or does he just switch cassettes every time he crosses a state border?”

"I wish it was at the state border," Sam answers, slowly backing out of the garage. "A guy can only stand listening to the same Metallica tape so many times in a row."

"Don’t get me wrong here, Bailey, I enjoy the classics. But you’re talking to a guy who also enjoyed the classics when the classics meant minstrels and chamber orchestras."

"You’re not gonna stop with that, are you?" Sam asks, shifting gears. Bailey is the latest in a long string of nicknames.

"Not a chance! Now. Radio. I was thinking hard about this…" Gabriel says, resting one hand on Sam’s shoulder, "and I think we’re close enough friends now that we can sing in the car together."

Sam grins. “Sorry to shatter your dreams like this, but I don’t sing. Not in the car, not in the shower, and especially not with other people.”

"You’re shy?"

"No, I just can’t sing, is all." He’s a little shy. But for good reason, because he really, really cannot sing.

"Anyone can car sing." Gabriel insists, flipping on the radio and playing with the tuning dial. White Christmas starts playing, and Gabriel sings along with the last chorus. His voice is deeper than Sam thought it would be, smooth and on-key, and Sam knows he can’t match up.

"I can’t car sing like you, and I don’t know the words…"

"Come on, Sam. Sing the next one with me. It never leaves my confidence, and-“ Gabriel announces, turning the radio up, “it’s Jingle Bell Rock. Everyone knows the words to Jingle Bell Rock.”

Sam furrows his brow a little as the words start. He does. He does know the words to Jingle Bell Rock, all the way through the first stanza. “Was that a thinly-veiled reference to… Mean Girls?”

Gabriel gazes upwards in thought. “Actually, no. But I do appreciate your newly-discovered ability to pick up on those.”

"They played it on campus," Sam protests, “I had female friends.” 

"Point stands that you know the words. 'What a bright time, it’s the right time, to rock the night away'-" Gabriel starts, but his heart really isn't in it. He’s waiting for Sam. 

Sam groans, but joins him for the final verse. Gabriel punches his arm in delight as they sing the last lines loudly and terribly over the radio, and Sam suddenly gets it. He gets how car singing is supposed to be, and it’s not supposed to be to avoid heart-wrenching conversations with your dying brother. It flows easily from there, and they belt out “Joy to the World” and half of “Holly Jolly Christmas” before arriving at the grocery store.


	14. Day Fourteen: Ice Skating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has never been ice skating, and Gabriel feels the need to right this wrong.

Snow is just starting to drift down outside, soft and light, when Sam and Gabriel pull out of the driveway. They’re in one of the cars from the bunker’s garage, because Dean doesn't trust Gabriel enough to take the Impala anywhere, and Sam doesn't know where they’re headed. It’s a surprise.

"How do you even know where you’re going?" Sam asks with a hint of protest in his voice. As a general rule, he dislikes surprises. He trusts Gabriel, it’s just… they could be going anywhere, and Sam likes being prepared. The angel has assured him that a hat and scarf will be enough.

"There’s this thing called Google Maps, you should try it someti-"

"And you just remembered what it told you?"

Gabriel takes his eyes off the road long enough to shoot Sam one of his infamous ‘bitch please’ looks. “I remember everything.”

"That’s terrifying. Speaking of which, could you watch the road, maybe?" Gabriel rolls his eyes at Sam’s obvious lack of trust in his driving skills, but turns back to the empty highway. On a dreary Sunday afternoon, most people are at home, it seems. "Do you even have a licence?"

"I can have a license if I need a license. You just don’t like surprises."

"I like surprises, I just like knowing what…" Sam explains, then frowns as he realizes how much sense he made. "…they are," he finishes lamely.

"Ice skating. I’m taking you ice skating," Gabriel says fondly.

In far too short of a time, the car is parked, the skates rented, and Sam’s stepping onto the rink nervously. He’s never gone skating before, and the whole thing seems pretty dangerous- who the hell had decided to strap knives to their feet and walk across slippery dangerous solidified water? Who the hell had supported this endeavor?

Gabriel takes to the ice like a fish to water, gliding gracefully around the mostly-empty rink. “Come on, Bailey, it’s all easy after the first step,” he calls. Sam glowers in his direction, but Gabriel’s mid leap and doesn’t see it. Accepting the fact that he’s gonna have to get on the ice, he puts both feet into the rink and pushes away from the wall. 

This was a mistake. Oh dear god not in heaven, this was a mistake. Sam is drifting slowly towards the center of the rink, doing all he can to keep upright, and with no idea of how to move in any direction, let alone how to turn around and get out of this hellhole.

Gabriel skates easily past. “Glide, Sam. One foot forward, turn the other one out and push.” Sam deeply wishes at that moment that Gabriel would fall on his ass on the ice, but resenting the angel’s talent gets him nowhere. There are currently small children skating circles around him- literally, as he’s pretty much dead center of the rink now. Sam heaves a deep breath and does sort of what Gabriel says, pushing with one foot.

He makes it a few steps before he loses his balance and falls on his ass on the ice. Karma’s a bitch that way. Before he can skid around the ice trying to control his limbs any further, Gabriel comes to a neat stop in front of him. “You said it was easy,” Sam accuses.

Gabriel shrugs. “I forgot what a hard time moose have with ice.”

Sam groans. “You’re the worst.” He turns away and tries getting a grip on the ice again to hoist himself up. He is a man who stopped an apocalypse, he should be able to do this…

"Hey." Sam looks over his shoulder. Gabriel’s holding out both gloved hands. "Take my hands, and I’ll help you get the hang of it." He lets the angel hoist him up, but the second he’s standing on his own again, he half wishes he were back on the ice. At least he’d felt somewhat grounded down there. At least he wasn't six and a half feet away from a broken nose.

"I never said let go.” Gabriel’s suddenly at his side again, taking one of his hands, and he feels a rush of safety and warmth. “Come on. I’ll help.”

"You’ve been practicing, I take it?"

Gabriel grins cheekily. “Nope. This I’m just a natural at.” They take their first glide-step together, Gabriel stepping slowly so Sam’s stiff movements can keep up. “You’re getting it, though.”

By the time their rental runs out and they have to step off the ice, they’re skating together perfectly, and the idea of not holding hands has never occurred to either of them. The snow has fallen thick and white in the parking lot, and Gabriel reaches for Sam’s hand again. “Don’t want you falling on me, Sammoose.”

Gabriel’s the one who slips and Sam keeps him upright and laughs, his breath clouding in the cold, and once Gabriel’s recovered from the indignity of the whole thing, he joins. They’re two idiots holding hands in the parking lot of a skate rink in the snow and against the darkening sky and Sam never wants it to end.


	15. Day Fifteen: Snowball Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Sam challenge Dean to a snowball fight. This is a mistake.

Yesterday’s flurries start coming down thicker and heavier, and the ground is covered in at least a foot of packing snow by the morning of the fifteenth. Dean reluctantly agrees to hunting in the afternoon so they can try making a snowman a second time. He also very reluctantly agrees to go out with them, after Gabriel calls him ‘Ebeneezer’ and a handful of other unsavory names and Sam makes puppy eyes.

Sam and Gabriel have about half of the bottom built when Sam’s hit in the back of the head by a handful of snow. He yelps and turns to look at his brother, who’s got his hands in his pockets and is gazing off into the distance innocently. Sam makes a face. “Dude.”

"What?"

"I’m making art, okay," Sam mimes seriousness, "and I don’t appreciate-" A second snowball grazes his shoulder from behind.

Gabriel’s face is as innocent as Dean’s, and he makes a ‘fuck if I know’ face when Sam looks at him accusingly. “So, snowball fight, then?” Sam asks.

Gabriel jumps to his feet. “I’m game. One fort here, one over there, then?”

"Bring it, shortstack," Dean grins, punching his fist into his palm.

As the angel runs the short distance to the location of the new fort, he hollers over his shoulder, “Dibs on Sam!”

Sam ducks his head in a laugh and goes to follow him, but locks eyes with Dean, who’s looking at him… weirdly, almost sadly. He glances at Gabriel, kneeling in the snow a few yards away, then looks back at Sam, the corners of his lips twitching up almost sympathetically. “You got it bad, huh?”

Sam’s jaw drops a little. “What?”

Dean raises his eyebrows, but before he can say anything else, Gabriel shouts from across the yard. “Come on, Bailey, fort won’t build itself!” Sam jogs towards him, still feeling a little numb inside from what Dean had said. 

"Alright, you take the left flank and I’ll start-" Gabriel breaks off. "You okay? Looking a little pale there, Samsquatch."

Sam shakes his head. “Fine. Chilly,” is what he says, but he just wants to know how he’d gotten so obvious that even Dean was noticing.

Before long, they've both got half decent forts built, and despite Gabriel and Sam working together, Dean’s is far sturdier. Sam blames it on Gabriel’s absolutely rubbish planning as well as Dean’s brain somehow being wired for fort building. It isn't long before he’s firing the first shots and collapsing half their fort with some well packed snowballs.

"Shit, Sam. Starboard’s not holding up so great."

"I don’t even have time to point out all the reasons that’s wrong," Sam says, dodging another snowball. They may have twice the throwing arms, but they’re clearly losing this war.

"Fix it while I make more snowballs!"

"Not worth it. Dean’s gonna collapse us completely if we don’t knock him down a few pegs and make him retreat a bit."

"Maybe not worth it on- oof!” Gabriel takes a snowball to the side of the head. “On your end, but I’m getting clobbered over here. And anyway, I’m the captain, so…”

“You’re the captain? No wonder this place is falling apart.” As if to prove his point, another particularly well-aimed snowball takes the ‘starboard’ side down completely. Gabriel huffs at it.

"Sa-am. Please fix."

"Having some trouble, boys?" Dean calls, winging another handful of snow at his brother. This one scatters to the wind before it reaches the other side, but it doesn't change the fact that they’re having quite a bit of trouble.

Sam glances back at Gabriel. “I’m starting to think I should have been on Dean’s side. We’d have clobbered you, archangel and all.”

"Okay, that’s just rude." Gabriel flicks at the snow still on the ground between them, sending a dusting of the stuff right into Sam’s face.

"You little shit!" Sam exclaims, and without any further ado, grabs a handful of snow and lunges at his captain.

Gabriel leaps away, ending up sprawled out in the snow and beating Sam away with all four limbs. “Help! Mutiny!”

Dean’s stopped throwing snow and is instead laughing his ass off. “And the ship plunges into turmoil as the crew turns on the tyrannical captain-“

"Get off, you moose!" Gabriel shouts, voice tinged with laughter, but his mirth only weakens him, and before long Sam’s managed to straddle him and jam the heap of snow down the back of his coat and shirt. “That’s cold in both senses of the word, ya filthy traitor.” He shoves Sam off, and somehow they end up lying side by side, mostly behind their wreck of a snow fort, only a few inches apart. Gabriel’s nose is pink with the cold and his scarf has little snowflakes caught on it, and Sam’s wet hair is splayed out almost touching Gabriel’s face.

"You’re the worst captain…" Sam says softly, but there’s only amusement and affection in his voice. He was aiming for only the first of the two, but the second just slips out. Gabriel gazes into his eyes for a minute, and Sam can feel him shifting closer in the snow as the angel slowly leans in…

Gabriel shoves a handful of snow up the front of Sam’s shirt. Sam lets out an undignified yell and scrambles to his feet, trying to paw it out with his wet gloves. Gabriel is faster, rolling away and running across the yard, laughing maniacally. “The look on your face, Sam!”

Dean throws a snowball that hits him square in the nose, and that calms him down considerably. Dean is unanimously declared victor and the group heads inside to hang up their wet things. Gabriel doesn't have anything warm to wear as he settles by the fire, so Sam brings out his warmest hoodie and wraps the angel in that.

Dean catches him in the hallway. “What’d he do to you, anyway?”

That little jerk is grinning like he thinks Sam’s going to turn into a blushing mess and admit that Gabriel had kissed him or something. God. As though Gabriel would… Sam shoots his brother the 'really, Dean?' bitchface. “He stuffed snow up my shirt.”

Dean laughs. “Cute.” He doesn't say any more on the subject though, which Sam is grateful for, because he spends a little time on the couch with Gabriel before their hunt, and his warmest hoodie is even warmer when it’s wrapped around the angel in his arms.


	16. Day Sixteen: Getting Sick from the Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam catches a cold. Gabriel makes him tea.

Sam wakes up with chills, a sore throat, and a stuffed up nose, and he knows he’s brought it on himself. After getting soaked in the snow yesterday morning, he’d headed straight out with Dean to track down a windego that had ventured a little further south than it should have, possibly because of the snowfall. It wasn't a very difficult kill, but they’d ended up soaked to the bone. Dean’s immune system or possibly the mark pulled him through, and Sam wasn't so lucky.

He’s fine enough to dig into the case’s history at the library, Sam decides, digging around his dresser drawers for his warmest hoodie. He remembers with a rather nasal groan that it’s out on the couch, where Gabriel had been wearing it last night. He drags himself out with a blanket still draped around his shoulders. The angel is half-asleep, oversized hoodie still zipped up around his smaller frame.

He can’t ask for it back, he just can’t. Not when Gabriel’s wearing it. As he shuffles back towards the hall, the blanket slips off his shoulders and falls in a heap on the floor. Gabriel sits up, blinking at the sound. “I’m awake.”

"Go back to sleep," Sam says, bleariness obvious in his voice. "Dean and I are heading a few towns over."

Gabriel turns on the couch to look at him, watching as he picks the blanket back up and wraps it around his shivery body. “Uh, no. You’re going back to bed, Sam. Archangel’s orders, and before you ask, yes, we rank higher than doctors.”

Dean had protested too, at first, but Sam’s insistence that library wouldn't strain him and his own eagerness to keep hunting had won over his nurturing urges."I’m just doing some library work, I promise," Sam assures him.

"You’re just doing some sleeping," Gabriel shoots back. "You’re not going outside like that, Sam. It’s cold and I will physically tuck you in if needed.”

"I’m not going out in a blanket, no." Sam tilts his head a little in an attempt to sidetrack the conversation. "Are you getting your grace back enough to make those threats?"

"Please." Gabriel rolls his eyes. "I've had plenty of grace for at least a week now. I’m just diverting it all into healing up the wing, is all. And your distractions don’t work on me. Bed. I’ll do the research."

Sam doesn't have the heart to argue- because a nice warm bed actually sounds perfect right now. Maybe toss back a little whiskey- Dean swears by it for head colds. In the end he forgoes it simply because he passes out the second his head hits the pillow.

——

"You awake in there, Samasaurus?" His eyes are being stubborn at first, but he feels the bed dip next to him, hears the unusually soft voice. "We killed some sons of bitches and then I made tea."

Sam snorts unattractively. That pretty much sums up most of his attempts at relaxation. “F’r me?”

"Yup." Sam opens his eyes to see Gabriel setting a mug on the nightstand. "And I brought your hoodie back, thought you might need it for warmth. I’m gonna mother hen you through this, alright?"

Shaking his head, Sam pushes Gabriel’s hand off his side. “You’ll catch whatever I have…”

"I've been around since the first century and survived the Bubonic Plague," Gabriel comments dryly. "I think I’ll live."

"Right." Sam’s still a little out of it. He normally remembers things like that- remembers that Gabriel is ancient and powerful and all that. Right now, though, he’s grateful for the more human interactions. Gabriel moves his hand back to rest on Sam’s forehead this time.

"You’ll live. Now tea and then sleep."

Sam heaves himself upright. “You’re bossy when you’re nice.”

The angel crosses his arms defensively. “I’m bossy when I’m concerned.”

He could think of several situations that attest to the fact that Gabriel’s bossy whenever he wants to be bossy, but decides to let it go. He doesn't mind. Sam sips his tea quietly, before finally he pipes up, “I don’t know if I can sleep any more. Do you wanna- I dunno, play a board game or something?” Gabriel caves, so Sam’s clearly not dying enough for him to be too concerned.

They relocate to the fireside and play several rounds of clue before Sam dozes back off, warm and full of tea.


	17. Day Seventeen: Spending Time with Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel returns to the bunker, along with his vessel's daughter, Claire Novak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every chapter before this one was set before the mid-season finale of s10. This one is set directly after. It also takes place on the EIGHTEENTH of December, meaning every chapter from here forward will 1. Include Cas and Claire, and 2. be set on the date AFTER the number of the chapter (ie chapter twenty is set on the twenty first.)  
> Also, Gabriel's POV!

Dean has practically dragged Sam out with him, insisting that Cas had called, that it was an emergency, so Gabriel has the bunker all to himself. He takes it as a mark of their trust that they leave him alone in the place. Still, without Sam around to chastise him for it (the hunter undoubtedly would), Gabriel decides to stretch his wings.

He flies slowly and gently, making lazy circles outside the bunker. Discounting his desperate flight to the bunker from heaven, he hasn't flown in years, and his wings are sore from the cramped prison Metatron had kept him is. His vessel may be small, but his wings are some of the largest in the heavens- comes with being a messenger, after all. While the five remaining ones are slowly getting used to being in the air again, Gabriel devotes some attention to how the remains of the sixth are healing up.

Flying to the bunker had been a desperate, bad decision. He should have laid low and let the wound improve a little before flying on it, because it had torn further open and lost more blood and feathers and the grace woven into his bones, but… he’d been desperate. He’s willing to admit that. He’d thought he was dying, and goddammit, he wasn't going to die alone. He wasn't going to die before he saw, one last time, the only people he really considered friends. He also knew it would have been a shitty thing to do, just wing in after a five year absence and die, but… Gabriel’s been alone and in hiding most of his life. He finally has some people who begrudgingly accept him and he’s going to take full advantage.

They've been good to him the last month, Sam especially, and as much fun as having him around has been, they’re going to want him out of their hair eventually. He understands. Gabriel slowly swoops down, landing in the snow with a few steps more than he should need. Good enough. If he keeps devoting most of his replenishing grace to healing up, he should be good to head out before Christmas. They deserve some time together without him. One of his lower wings brushes against Dean’s snow fort, slightly melted but mostly intact, and he smiles to himself at the memories- stuffing snow up Sam’s shirt, Dean beating both of them miserably. He loved them, and father above, he especially loved Sam, but… it was better not to overstay his welcome. He’d leave Christmas Eve, Gabriel decides as he tucks his wings away and heads back into the bunker.

——

Sam and Dean come back late, and they bring with them Castiel and a teenage girl. Unexpected developments, but Gabriel rolls with it. Dean storms off to be alone, not speaking a word to any of them, and Gabriel and Sam exchange a glance that says it’ll be explained later. It must be the mark.

Claire hauls her duffel of things down to one of the empty bedrooms while Castiel pulls Gabriel into a significantly-less-awkward-than-last-time hug. Being in close contact with Sam has kind of warmed him up to it, honestly. “So, just curious, but the little punk is…?”

"Her name is Claire," Castiel explains with a sigh, "and she’s my vessel’s daughter."

Gabriel steps back from Cas as though ducking out of the conversation. “That’s cool and all, but there is no way in hell you could get me to track down mine. You don’t wanna know some of the things this vessel cranked out before I took over.”

:What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asks, but before Gabriel can explain, Claire reappears in the doorway in a pair of sweatpants and a different t-shirt.

"Are you gonna introduce me?" She’s shaken up, Gabriel notices, but putting up a tough front. He’s familiar with the concept.

"This is Gabriel," Sam offers. "He’s another angel who’s been staying here to recover from…" Sam doesn't quite know what to put at the end of that statement.

"From soul-crushing imprisonment," Gabriel decides on.

Claire gives him a once over. “So whose dad did you steal?”

Cas winces, subtly, but Gabriel sees it. Best to be honest and up-front with this one, he thinks. “An eight-legged horse.”

Sam chokes on air, and Cas turns to stare at his brother, eyes squinting. Claire takes it much better. “A horse,” she repeats.

"The myth of Sleipner? This vessel was his father. Don’t think the horse will miss him much." He manages to get a tiny half smile from Claire, which is enough of a victory for tonight.

"I think you should get some sleep." Castiel says. "It will be good for you after today. I can watch over you, if you want."

Claire makes a face, like she can’t believe Cas is trying to pull the ‘sleep is good for you’ on her. Castiel shifts a little. “Do I sound… too much like a dad?”

She shrugs. “A really doofy dad, I guess.” Claire shrugs, attempting to be casual. “But still a better parent than I've had in a while, so…”

"So it’s a start." Cas finishes. He hugs Claire, too, and she accepts it, hands still in her sweatpants pockets, before she heads down the hall to bed.

Gabriel turns to the other two. “Should I ask?”

"Surrogate father was using her for petty theft," Sam says softly, "and then almost sold her out to this group of… awful, disgusting-"

"I’ll kill them." Gabriel spits immediately. "For even trying to lay a hand on her, just tell me who they are-"

"Dean already did." Castiel says with a sigh. "That’s the problem. He wasn't trying to, but he did."

"I thought the mark was dormant," Sam says. "I thought-"

Gabriel lays a hand on his arm. “It’s late, Sam. You need sleep too. If the mark is only making Dean kill scumbags like that, then he hasn't fallen too far yet, promise.”

For a moment, it looks like Sam wants to say something more, do something more, but he doesn't, just lets the relief and weariness pour over into his smile. “You’re right. I’ll… see you in the morning.” He presses his hand to Gabriel’s, just for a moment, before heading to his room.

Castiel looks at him through narrowed eyes. “What?” Gabriel asks.

"Death changed you." Castiel commented, as usual with the subtlety of an eight-legged horse.

"Thanks, bucko, nice to see you too."

"In a good way." Cas decides. "I don’t require sleep with my grace at the level it is."

"Sitting by the fire it is." Gabriel starts the blaze with a click of his fingers, thankful for how easily and freely his energy is pouring back in. "Come on, little brother. We have catching up to do."


	18. Day Eighteen: Lending the Other Something Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's bitterly cold out, and Gabriel's mother hen instinct is stronger than he lets on.

The snow’s partially melted into slush when the cold front hits, meaning the world is suddenly covered in both ice and snow as well as colder than it had any right to be in Kansas. Sam hates when it gets really cold like this, when you can’t step outside without your nose losing feeling and his thickest sweater and jacket do nothing against the wind. It reminds him too much of the pit, and the cold that was Lucifer’s presence, no matter how much he tries to put it from mind.

Sam’s only just started on the driveway when Gabriel appears next to him, and he jumps and drops the shovel. Different archangel. It was okay. He was okay.

"Easy there, Sammy, I know I haven’t flown much recently, but… Sam?"

Sam clenches both fists tight to the point of painful in an attempt to calm himself back down. “Sorry, I just…” A shiver runs through his tensed up body, and he finds himself incapable of explaining it. “Cold, and wings…Hell…”

Gabriel holds one hand up to Sam’s shoulder, not quite touching, and looks at Sam as though asking permission. Once Sam nods, though, he does more than rest his hand, gently pulling Sam against him. “You’re alright, Sam. You’re home.” Gabriel understands in a way no one else really has, and the reminder of home is what he needs to release the sudden grip of fear.

He also suspects that Gabriel’s hands, roving his back, are releasing the tension in his muscles via grace. He could get very used to that. Well, no, he really couldn't get used to it, as Gabriel was leaving in a week, but… metaphorically, he could get used to it.

"I know, I just… it happens sometimes."

"That’s okay. You’re through it. And… what are you doing out here without a coat, anyway?" Gabriel sounds a little peeved at the idea, as though Sam being sick a few days ago had woken some deeply buried mothering streak that was now devoted to keeping Sam bundled up and well-fed, if breakfast had any correlation to now. 

"I gotta clear it out so the impala can get back in the driveway," Sam protests as Gabriel picks up the shovel and tosses it out of reach. "They nearly slipped going out…"

Gabriel gives a rather off-hand snap, and the snow and ice is pushed to the side of the blacktop in an instant. “You don’t have a hat or a scarf, either. You’re gonna die out here, and trust me, that’s not the way you wanna go.”

“You don’t have a hat,” Sam says accusingly.

"Archangel. Mostly charged archangel. I’m plenty warm, promise." He presses a bare hand to Sam’s cheek to demonstrate, and his skin is deliciously warm. "Here."

Sam almost whines at the loss of contact, but as Gabriel unwraps his scarf and tosses it around Sam’s shoulders, he’s immediately grateful. The scarf is warm and thick and soft, and he’s never taking it off ever. “Where’d you get this?”

"Created it. Now come inside and warm up before I strain something carrying you in."

Sam obeys.

——

"I was thinking," Gabriel says as Sam sips his coffee, "of having a party."

"A party." Sam repeats. "Who would you even invite?"

"Your friends."

“My friends? Why, you don’t have any?”

"I have plenty, bitch," Gabriel snarks at him. "I still exchange cards with ‘em and everything."

Sam grins. He’d seen Gabriel’s card procedure, and the recipients were not the kind of people you’d invite to a Christmas party. A full moon, high scale sacrificial blood orgy, maybe. “But really, why a Christmas party? And how long, exactly have you been planning this?”

"So I can go out with a bang. What did you think I did all that baking for?"

"Honestly? So you could eat the dough."

"Fuck you, Winchester." Gabriel says, but his smile tells Sam he’s teasing right back. "Anyway, I was thinking Saturday night. I bring a few people here, I put them right back when it’s over?"

"Yeah. It sounds kinda fun, having a real party. I’ll run it by Dean when he, Claire, and Cas get back from the store."

"Is that where they are?" Sam nods, and Gabriel makes a little ‘huh’ sound. "They’ll make such good dads." Sam nearly dribbles coffee down his chin with stifled laughter, but catches it with his jacket sleeve. No way is he ruining this scarf.


	19. Day Nineteen: Throwing a Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel throws a Christmas party and then hides in the kitchen.

Cas and Sam spend most of Friday tracking down a werewolf pack, only to let them go again. They’d never killed a human, and the cattle attacks were done in desperation, leaving them with a completely cold trail on the vic. In the end it’s Gabriel who works it out- a ‘shifter tearing out a heart so it would look like a werewolf to even an experienced hunter. Saturday morning they track the thing down and stake it, making it back just in time to clean up before the party. It’s truly a life Sam never thought he’d be living.

And while he definitely thought it’d be the lamest Christmas party in the history of parties, Gabriel had really pulled through on this one. The people he’d contacted yesterday are all here, safe and sound and warm in the well-decorated bunker. The lights in the corner have finally stopped blinking. so clearly Gabriel has enough grace to devote some of it to that. And the food is magnificent. Seriously, Sam can’t remember the last time he ate this well.

It’s something of a ladies party, though. Charlie and Dorothy are chatting with Sheriff Mills, and Alex is hitting it off pretty well with Claire. Linda Tran and Bess Fitzgerald are talking quietly by the fire while Cas is listening solemnly to one of Garth’s stories. Other than the fact that Dean’s hidden away in his room, watching Dr. Sexy reruns and sulking, all is well. He seems to think he’ll go batshit and kill all their remaining friends if he joins them.

The only thing missing is the archangel responsible, and Sam wonders with a jolt if he’s decided to leave early. Sam finds him standing around alone in the kitchen, however, idly licking the frosting off a cookie. “Why, Gabriel,” Sam says in mock astonishment as he wanders into the kitchen, “I never could have guessed you were a shy one.”

"I’m not shy," Gabriel responds, biting into the cookie and continuing with his mouth full, "I’m just an asshole."

"I’m not gonna argue that point." Sam leans against the counter. "But just because you’re a jerk doesn't mean you should sit in here alone. It was your idea."

"It was for you boys." Gabriel hoists himself up to sit on the counter near Sam. "Sort of a ‘last hurrah, thanks for letting me hijack your house’ sort of thing."

"You didn't hijack it, I promise."

"Good. Now run along and play with your friends." Gabriel crams the rest of the cookie in his mouth unceremoniously and conjures himself a glass of milk, clearly signaling an end to the discussion.

Sam doesn't accept it. He rests a hand on Gabriel’s knee, and says softly, “Come with me, then.” Admittedly, it’s a selfish thing. He wants to show Gabriel off, introduce him and watch people’s reactions. He wants to recount the snowball fight incident with Gabriel’s clever little quips in the spots where they belong. Mostly he just doesn't want one of Gabriel’s last nights in the bunker spent alone in the kitchen with a plate of baked goods.

"Look Sam," Gabriel sets the glass down with a thud. "The personality I got going here really only works when I’m the trickster, or when I’m with you, so-"

"And you’ll be with me," Sam reassures him. "Besides, you’re sweet, deep down." Sam gives the angel’s knee a little squeeze before starting towards the door.

"Don’t you ever,” Gabriel says seriously, pointing at Sam, “repeat that in front of company. I have an image to uphold.”

"Right. Got it." Gabriel slides down from the counter and links arms with Sam, who frowns. "Am I introducing you as the resident chef, or my trophy wife? I’m getting mixed signals-"

"Excuse you, I’m ten times better than a trophy wife- I can bake, for one, and I throw awesome house parties. Plus I look better in lingerie."

Sam half-chokes on his own tongue, because add that one to the file of thoughts he shouldn't be having. “I’ll stick with resident angel, then.”

The party really does go well, all things considered, and the adults end up pretty drunk after Claire goes to bed and Gabriel sends Alex home, despite her protests. Sam gets pretty handsy, and at one point licks Gabriel’s cheek, but honestly at this point everyone’s doing stupid shit, so Gabriel lets it slide. The only one who really takes notice is Charlie, and she can poke at him about it tomorrow.

Gabriel produces tiny indoor fireworks near the end of the night, and somehow most of them end up throwing mini marshmallows at the tree while Sam and Bess drunkenly shout ‘Make it rain!’ over the dubstep remix of Jingle Bell Rock. This is Sam’s life now. He’s surprisingly okay with it.


	20. Day Twenty: Giving an Early Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't like waiting.

Sam wakes Sunday morning only slightly hungover, which is impressive considering just how drunk he’d let himself get last night. He hasn't had a sip since that stupid night when he’d tried to pull moves on Gabriel, fearing he’d repeat the incident and shatter the rebuilt trust between them, but last night was different. Last night was friends and make-shift family and drunkenly singing carols with Bess, who was definitely coming over again sometime.

The cold snap is gone, thankfully, so he’s able to step outside without losing his nose, but it’s still plenty chilly. Late December, after all. He doesn't particularly like thinking about the upcoming end of the month. Gabriel’s going to fly out in a few days, and then he and Dean or maybe Cas or Claire are going to have to pull down all the decorations, pack them up and leave the bunker bare again.

He hates that. He hates that when they take the string lights down, when they remove all the mistletoe, they’ll be removing all the signs that Gabriel was ever here. That’s the thing about Christmas miracles, Sam thinks, kicking at a rock in the driveway with a little more force than was maybe needed. A Christmas miracle is glorious and life-changing until the twenty-sixth, when that miracle is whisked away and life has to go on with a fucking gaping hole in your chest where it used to be.

"Were you born in a barn, Winchester, close the door!” Gabriel shouts from inside, and Sam about-faces and returns inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Jesus was born in a barn," Sam points out, "I bet no one ever yelled at him about his door-closing habits."

"Yeah, cause he was a polite kid and didn’t try to freeze my toes off."

"What happened to the fully-charged archangel who’s plenty warm without a scarf?" Sam heads down the stairs from the balcony to the main room where the angel is sitting, back in Sam’s hoodie.

Gabriel shrugs. “I used up most of my grace yesterday on party tricks.”

"So I guess I’m never getting the hoodie back, huh?"

"Nope. Sorry, Samboni, but this thing has been gifted with a higher purpose."

"You could just conjure one up, you know. Once your grace isn't devoted entirely to the wing-" Sam breaks off, suddenly remembering the poorly wrapped parcel tucked under his bed. "Actually, hold on. I have something for you."

"Christmas Eve is two days," Gabriel states, as though Sam could lose track.

"Yeah, but I wanna give you this now. It’s… just wait a second, would you?" Sam rushes down the hall and returns with what looks like a wad of green wrapping paper. "Here." He holds it out towards Gabriel, actually looking a little embarrassed by what he’s doing, getting a gift like this for an archangel.

Said archangel doesn't take the time needed to critique his wrapping job, because he’s tearing the paper aside to reach the soft folds of cloth within. “Sammy, I’m touched by the gesture,” he says as the last scrap of paper flutters to the floor, “but you didn't have-“

Gabriel stops mid-sentence, and Sam realizes with a whirl of nervousness that he’d taken aback. As in, either really likes it or really can’t believe Sam would even think of such a thing.

"This is the greatest thing I've seen in my whole life," Gabriel gapes, holding up the navy pullover hoodie that was inside the paper monstrosity. The front, Sam knows, is emblazoned with "Christmas Angel" in silver and a tiny pair of golden wings, and he’d desperately hoped it wasn't too cheesy.

"It’s not much," Sam mumbles, "and I hope you don’t mind, it’s from the women’s department-"

"It’s fleecy inside," Gabriel observes.

"And I know you could just create a warmer, better one yourself, but I just- I saw this and thought of you." Sam knows it sounds lame and ridiculous, but it’s true, and the bounds of their friendship are a bit out of the ordinary to begin with…

Gabriel unzips the old Sam hoodie he’s been wearing and squirms out of it. “And that’s why it’s so great,” he says. “You knew I’d be all over this, and nothing I could make…” Gabriel grunts a little as he pulls the new hoodie on. “Nothing I could make can compare to knowing you saw it and thought of me.”

Sam lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. “Good. You look… it suits you,” he says finally. He wants to say Gabriel looks good, because he really does, in the most easy, domestic kind of way- hair mussed, hands tucked in his sweatshirt pocket, curled up with a manuscript in the living room. He wishes he could say Gabriel looks good and then, two months later, say it again when Gabriel pulls out and wears the sweatshirt on a lazy cold Sunday afternoon in February when they’re sprawled on the couch together. God, he wants that.

He’s being too bitter, he knows he is. Better to embrace what he has now and enjoy Christmas while the angel is still around. He doesn't have to force himself to have a good time when the two of them and Claire go to the lights show in town that evening. Although Claire likes to act like the whole thing is kiddish and dumb, he can tell she has fun too, and when she refers to Gabriel as his boyfriend, Sam laughs it off fairly convincingly. There’s no point driving himself crazy thinking about what he can’t have. He’s just going to appreciate Gabriel as his friend and his Christmas angel, and be happy with the way this year’s festivities are shaping up.


	21. Day Twenty-one: Sitting in a Cafe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family spends the evening in a cafe, and Gabriel and Sam slip off to look at the stars.

Spending the evening out is Cas’ idea, mostly because he wants to drag Dean out of his room and force him to talk again. They choose the warmest, coziest little coffee shop around, set out in the middle of nowhere, and, despite Dean’s complaints, make him drive. The Impala comfortably fits three in the backseat, so Gabriel resigns himself to not flying and settles in between Claire and Cas after Claire declares that she’ll come, but she is not sitting bitch. Cas looks confused, but Gabriel just shoos him into the backseat and climbs in after.

It’s a room full of cliches, with the cozy chairs and couches by the fireplace and the kind of coffee that Dean snorts at contemptuously. He spends the entire evening staring enviously at Claire’s mug of sugary, chocolaty coffee, and Sam’s vaguely reminded of the few times he’d ordered a cocktail, listened to Dean bitch about it being a “girly drink”, and then returned from the bar to find half his drink gone and Dean looking guilty.

Gabriel immediately settles down with hot chocolate next to Sam. “So what do you want for Christmas? Because I’m thinking we get Dean a gift card to Starbucks. All in say aye.”

Sam snorts. “He’d probably actually hit you.”

"That’s why I let you do the giving."

"I am not taking the fall out for your pranks ever again. Not after-" Sam breaks off as a guilty but pleased smile spreads over Gabriel’s face. The angel tries to hide it by taking a sip from his mug, but it’s clear he’s remembering Dean chewing Sam out about the Bible casually lying in his skin mag drawer. "No. No you stop. It wasn't funny." Sam elbows the angel, who spills his cocoa down his chin. and onto his shirt.

"Watch yourself, Winchester, this is hot." He pauses. "The cocoa isn't that cold either."

That one earns an actual laugh that prompts the other three to give him a quick glance, but they all seem to accept the cause as ‘Gabriel’. It’s weird, Sam thinks, how easy and natural it’s become for the two of them to just sit close by the fire and drink hot chocolate and tease each other. They do it in the bunker, and they apparently do it here, too.

Gabriel dabs the front of his shirt off with a napkin, because he’s really not the slob Dean likes to accuse him of being. “Come outside with me for a second.”

Sam nods, confused but willing, and moves to the coatrack for his coat and scarf as Gabriel wanders out,leaving his mug on the table. Cas is hanging Claire’s jacket for her. He glances at Sam, who’s fumbling with the grey scarf, looking not unlike a kid on field trip day.

"Gabriel?" Cas asks suddenly, so quiet Sam’s not quite sure he heard it right at first.

"What?"

"You look excited but sad," Cas states. "I can only assume…"

Sam swallows down a lump in his throat. Cas didn’t know what it meant to sit bitch or what a latte was but he looks at Sam and he knows right away what’s buried in his heart. “It’ll be quiet, when he leaves.” Sam shrugs as though that’s the only thought on his mind.

"He believes it’s the right thing to do, and when he wants to do something, there’s no talking him out of it. He’s used to being alone.” Cas tips his head a little, sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

"He’s your brother," Sam mutters, brushing away from Castiel before he has to face any more acknowledgement that yes, even the socially inept angel knows.

 

Gabriel’s standing at the edge of the parking lot, where it’s darkest, and he motions Sam over. “See that star?”

Sam nods.

"Not a star. That one’s Saturn. You've heard of the Star of Bethlehem?"

"Let me guess," Sam says, "not a star?"

"Nope. It was a convergence of Saturn, a few stars that have since gone-" he pauses to make a little explosion effect with his hands- "and a very well placed comet."

"Was it as bright as they say? Shining both day and night?"

"Mmmm. Not that exciting. But it was pretty great, the Star."

"I thought you were the star of Bethlehem," Sam glances down at the angel with a little smile.

Gabriel stuffs his hands in his sweatshirt front pocket. “That was genuinely nice,” he huffs, “and I don’t know how to respond to it.”

"Well I’m glad you told me about the star," Sam says.

"You’re one of the few people who’d be interested, so…" Gabriel trails off, still gazing off into space.

"So you were hoping to be able to tell someone."

Gabriel still looks a little flustered, maybe from what Sam had said earlier. “I was hoping to tell you. And…”’

"And what?"

"It’s stupid. Forget it."

"No, really, I promise I won’t think it’s stupid," Sam assures him.

He’s never seen Gabriel look quite so nervous and embarrassed. “I kinda wanted to sing you one of the really old carols, from the, ah, hark the herald angels days. But that’s stupid, it doesn't sound the same in a vessel, and you wouldn't understand the words-“

"Oh, please do." Sam says in a rush. It’s not the Sam who’s fascinated by history and mythology and angels speaking now, but the Sam who loves Gabriel’s singing voice and hasn't heard it since the day in the car, when Gabriel was clearly going for fun and volume over quality. "I’d love to hear it. Really."

He and Gabriel are still shoulder to shoulder, gazing out at the sky, and Gabriel draws a breath and sings. His voice floats beautifully on the night air, and although Sam doesn't understand a word of it, he’s able to hear from the passion and tone in Gabriel’s song exactly what it’s about. It’s praise and celebration, but not in the noisy excited way. It’s quiet joy and love and Sam suddenly feels he’s been welcomed into something so intimate and wonderful that it’s almost beyond all those who are a part of it at all. It’s a lullaby for a God, and a psalm for a King, and a fanfare for an infant.

Gabriel ends his song, and Sam doesn't have words. When the angel starts murmuring something about it sounding better when the choruses in the heavens harmonized together, Sam just pulls him in to rest against his shoulder, and that is enough of a response to quiet him. They stargaze for a while, arms around each other’s waists; it’s a clear night, and above them are only stars, echoes, and the tiny clouds of their breath.

"I never learned constellations," Sam says after a while.

Gabriel hums out another cloud of air. “I never did either, actually. I know the heavenly names, but not all the human ones.” He’s quiet. “Make one for me.”

Dean, Cas, and Claire find them in the parking lot when the three of them are ready to head home, and they've named half the sky.


	22. Day Twenty-two: Making S'mores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started out with a kiss how did it end up like this it was only a kiss IT WAS ONLY A KISS  
> ...basically s'mores, dancing, mistletoe, blowjob.

It’s Sam who suggests marshmallows late into the evening of the twenty-third, mostly because the cookies are gone and the fire is right there, so it seems a waste not to be cooking something in its warmth. They could always go the more traditional route of ‘chestnuts roasting on an open fire’, but it would feel too solemn, Sam thinks, and marshmallows are both more fun and more in line with what Gabriel usually eats. They’ve been researching and then talking so long that they’re rapidly approaching ‘midnight snack’ territory.

Sam’s digging through the cupboard for the graham crackers he knows they have while Gabriel paces and eats marshmallows raw. Sam didn't even get to make s’mores growing up and even he knows that’s wrong. But Gabriel’s impatient when it comes to his sugar, so Sam doesn't hold it against him. “Found ‘em.”

"Good," Gabriel says around a mouth of fluff. "I wanna start assembling."

"I’m not an expert," Sam sets the box down on the counter. "But I’m pretty sure you roast the marshmallows first."

"If you don’t lay the grounds first, you don’t have anywhere to land your hot marshmallow," Gabriel explains, tearing into the box of crackers. "Think of this as the delicious, chocolatey helicopter pad."

Sam shakes his head as he lays out his own dessert materials. “You know, I’m never going to be able to not think of it as that, so…”

"Congrats to me, then." Gabriel pops another marshmallow in his mouth, but pauses mid-chew, listening. "I’ll be home for Christmas."

"What?"

"I’ll be home for Christmas is playing." Sure enough, the radio has gone from commercials to the soft piano and bittersweet lyrics. Sam has no idea why Gabriel would bother noticing; Gabriel’s certainly not going back to heaven for Christmas, and Sam doesn't really have a home. The song’s not sentimental to him. And then Gabriel turns to Sam as though he’s just realized Sam’s existence and says, "Dance with me."

Sam hastily backs to the table and sits down, firmly establishing that he is not going to be a part of this. “No way. You got me to sing, but I draw the line at dancing.”

"It’s kitchen dancing,” Gabriel corrects him. “The dance equivalent of car singing.” He leans over the counter that Sam has now placed between them, giving his best pleading eyes. “I’ll let you lead.”

"For the love of all things holy, do not let me lead."

"I’ll let you hold my waist and I’ll lead." Spending time with Sam has clearly improved his puppy eye skills.

Sam grunts, considering, but knowing he’s going to cave. It’s the twenty-third, their last night together, and certainly their last night alone. Dean’s turned in early, and Cas has taken Claire to check in with her brother and won’t be back until tomorrow. Even if he can’t dance, he’ll hold the angel and it’ll be a good last evening memory. “You owe me big time for this,” he warns, standing up.

"Owe you what, another dance?" Gabriel asks lightly.

"Fuck you."

"We’re dancing vertically here, Sam.” The angel steps close to Sam, realizing that his forehead comes only to Sam’s shoulder.

Sam laughs, not so much at their height difference, but at the disapproving scowl on Gabriel’s face. “Shorter than you thought?”

"Hands on my waist," Gabriel repeats, and Sam shuts up. In the sudden quiet, they can hear that "I’ll be Home for Christmas" is just ending, and Sam doesn't want it to. He’s just starting to work out which direction to move his feet to get a simple step going, and while Gabriel is decidedly leading, Sam’s catching on isn't bad.

The difference in height would make eye contact awkward, and Gabriel elects instead to lean against Sam’s shoulder, head turned so his hair just brushes the underside of Sam’s chin. Their kitchen dancing needs work, he can tell, but at least they’re moving a little, now swaying to a violin cover of Silent Night. Sam’s never understood the concept of Christmas peace before, but he can feel it sweeping though his chest now, almost as though it radiates from where Gabriel’s head is resting. For the first time in his life, the transition into Christmas eve is magical.

Gabriel pulls back, abruptly, just as Sam thinks that this should never stop happening ever. The angel looks so content and at ease that Sam wonders why he’d loosen his grip until he gestures upwards with his eyes, and Sam tilts his head back to find that they’re in the doorway. “Mistletoe,” Gabriel whispers.

"That’s… holly," Sam says stupidly. He doesn't care what kind of plant is hanging in their doorway, he should just take the clear opportunity… his mind jumps back to the night he’d gotten drunk and too handsy. He can’t-

"Details," Gabriel huffs, and pulls Sam down to kiss him. Gabriel’s not getting too into it, but he clearly wants, which has Sam confused as all hell, but this time he’s not stopping to question it. He kisses back, fervently, arms sliding from Gabriel’s waist to around his back to hold him as the angel practically melts against him, not unlike their first mistletoe adventure. Only this time neither of them draws back, kissing eagerly and fumblingly while Silent Night transitions into something with a good deal of jingle bells that Sam doesn’t have the brain power to identify.

He pulls away for air when his lungs start crying out in desperation against what he’s doing to them, and Gabriel tosses his head back, clearly offering Sam access to his neck. “Fuck, Sam,” he says, voice suddenly needy in a way it usually isn't. “Want your mouth on my neck.”

Sam forces himself to stop, sliding his hands away from the angel despite a protesting whine. “But I thought-“ _I thought you didn't want me like that._ Sam takes a step away, willing himself to have more control now that he’s sober. “Last time, you shut me down. And I was over the line, I’m glad you did, but….”

"You were drunk, Sam." Gabriel doesn't follow him, and the distance between them is so much, so much. Sam hates it. "I couldn't take advantage- and I’m sorry. About all this." His voice is controlled, sad, and Sam hates that too.

"Gabriel. Do you want me or not?" Sam lets an edge creep into his voice.

"Yes, okay?" Gabriel snaps. "I didn't want you to think I was pushing you into something- Mmm!” Sam cuts him off, pressing their mouths together eagerly again, licking at Gabriel’s lip until Gabriel lets him tease his tongue into the angel’s mouth. Sam’s hands move at the same time, sliding down Gabriel’s sides and pulling him closer, gripping Gabriel’s hitched leg and hoisting him up so they’re on an even level.

Fuck, he might not have Gabriel long term or the way his heart wants, but he is taking right now, and his body is very happy. Gabriel can tell, and he’s letting Sam do what he wants, clinging and kissing and letting out little hums of happiness against Sam’s mouth. The second time Sam pulls back for air, he angles his head back, obviously meaning what he’d said about Sam’s mouth on his neck. Sure enough, he gives a soft ‘ah’ of pleasure when Sam kisses him there, and Sam decides not to pull away again, instead tracing his lips over the stubble at the angel’s jawline as he works his way up to Gabriel’s ear.

"Can we-?" Sam pants, and doesn't even wait for an answer before he turns his attentions back to Gabriel’s neck.

"Your bed’s- ah- bigger," Gabriel gets out. Sam clearly intends to carry him there, because he takes a few steps, Gabriel still clinging, before pinning Gabriel to the hall wall and going at his neck. Gabriel’s hips, still pressing against Sam’s, jerk a little when Sam nips and the angel outright moans.

"Sh-hhh," Sam says huskily. "Dean’s sleeping." Honestly, he doesn't care about waking Dean up with the evidence of his fun, given how many times Dean’s kept him waiting outside their motel room because some girl was over, but he’s not sure he could handle the amount of judgment he’s going to get. What he’s doing is decidedly not a Good Idea. But screw good ideas, Gabriel wants him.

They make it to Sam’s bed after pausing to rut against each other in the hallway in no fewer than three spots, and Sam immediately settles himself on top of Gabriel and tugs open the top of the angel’s button-up. “Did you honestly think,” Sam asks, kissing Gabriel’s collar bone, “That I wouldn't want to do this sober?”

"Nnnn," Gabriel chokes out. "Yes there.”

Sam pulls the shirt open the rest of the way. “Did you think I wouldn't want you sober? Is that why you stopped me? Not because you didn’t-“

“Yes, that’s why I stopped you,” Gabriel responds, exasperated at the break in contact between Sam’s mouth and his skin.

Satisfied with the answer, Sam inches down the bed, kissing at Gabriel’s hipbones and the soft edge of his stomach. “Can I go down on you?”

Gabriel chokes on a breath in shocked excitement. “What the hell kind of question-?”

Sam takes that as a yes, tugging open the front of Gabriel’s jeans and sliding them down as far as his hips. His left hand splays itself out on Gabriel’s chest, holding him down, and then Sam eagerly dips his head.

 

——

Dean rolls over. He swears he’d heard Gabriel shout. But it’s whatever; he doesn't care what the angel gets up to, and he trusts that the bunker isn't on fire.

——

 

"I kinda thought you’d taste like Christmas," Sam comments idly, woozily, burying his nose further into the nape of Gabriel’s neck.

Gabriel lets out a hint of a laugh. “What does Christmas taste like?”

"I dunno," Sam murmurs. "Peppermint, I guess. Gingerbread."

He wants to do it again. Okay, maybe in a little while, because his hand is angry at him- he’d barely paused between getting Gabriel over the edge and turning to himself, and it wants a break. But still. He wants to do it again, go slower this time. He wants to explore, kiss the angel’s hips a little more, really enjoy the noises he’s apparently capable of dragging out of Gabriel.

"So what do I taste like?"

Like heaven. "Like a person-"

"That’s a good trick."

"And like marshmallow," Sam finishes, and he and Gabriel exchange another tiny, smiling kiss to taste again. "Shit, we left the s’more stuff out there," Sam realizes. Both chocolate landing pads are sitting unused on the counter, and the radio must be playing on.

Gabriel snaps idly. “Taken care of. Now finish undressing and get under the covers.”

Sam kicks his jeans the rest of the way off obediently. “For someone I just held to the bed, you’re pretty damn bossy.”

"It’s because I have good ideas."

Sam wants to retort that this had been his idea, not Gabriel’s by any stretch of the imagination, but… this really wasn't a Good Idea. In fact, it was probably the dumbest thing he’d done this month- letting himself have just a taste of the physical side of things when Gabriel’s leaving tomorrow- hell, it was probably already the twenty-fourth.

But he settles in, naked and warm and happy, next to Gabriel and under the soft fleece of his blankets, and he can’t regret it even a little. Because sleeping here, he finally feels like he’s home.


	23. Day Twenty-three: Drinks on Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve has arrived, and Dean, the angels, and Claire are celebrating. Sam less so. Sam has a miracle shaped hole in his heart.

It is simultaneously the best and worst Christmas Eve of Sam’s life. Best because he wakes up with Gabriel, still naked and deliciously warm, curled up against him, and when Gabriel joins him in the kitchen not half an hour later, they snark at each other and tease each other and Gabriel calls him Bailey and Samboni, among other awful plays on his name. It’s also the worst because Gabriel is leaving.

"Sam," Gabriel says urgently the second he emerges from the hallway. "I realized something."

"Yeah?"

"I’m heading out.. with a bang.” Gabriel winks ridiculously as Sam sets his mug down, transitioning into his most disbelieving bitchface.

"I am never sucking your dick again," Sam deadpans.

"Sorry, what?” Dean’s standing in the doorway, looking like he’d rather have not woken up today.

Sam shrugs guiltily as Gabriel takes a deep drink of Sam’s coffee to avoid the question.

"Y’know?" Dean decides, "I don’t even want to deal with this. It’s Christmas part one and I’m going back to bed."

——

They get a little work done during the day- cleaning, organizing, cooking- and gather around the living room that evening, Dean pouring drinks and Gabriel distributing lavish gifts that they’d never be able to get without him. Dean’s present pile ranges from an absolutely gorgeous new shotgun to Dr Sexy on DVD, and even Claire seems pretty content with her boots. Cas has a tiny plush cat that Gabriel claims is a good luck talisman and an MP3 extension for his car so he can finally play whatever he wants. 

There’s nothing yet for Sam, but he’s okay, watching the others start to exchange their much smaller but still heartfelt gifts- Dean has picked out a tiny car ornament with wings for Cas, and blushes a little when Cas thanks him. Gabriel also passes them all keycards- apparently, they work at any hotel- find room 669, he says, shooting Sam a wink.

Finally, Gabriel passes Sam a wrapped box, and while the others watch him inventively as he starts unwrapping, the angel slinks out of the room, murmuring to carry on without him for a minute. As much as he wants Gabriel to be there, Sam’s too intrigued to stop, and tears the lid off the box with a little too much excitement- first real Christmas present. A guy has a right to be excited.

Excitement quickly gives way to confusion as he pulls out a red crumpled bedsheet. Under it is what looks like a strip of leather, a set of bowls, and… a hairbrush?

"He likes being scratched with that," Gabriel explains, suddenly perched on the arm of the couch and holding, in both arms, a dog. An actual real live terrier, who’s looking slightly overwhelmed at all the people, but excited none the less. “Merry Christmas?”

"Oh my god." Sam drops the brush in shock, and puts the box aside to crawl over to the couch. "Is she-"

"For you," Gabriel confirms. "I talked Deanasaur into letting you keep him that day you were sick and he made the mistake of letting me in the car with him."

Sam can barely speak he’s so thrilled and emotional and grateful all at once. “Does she have a name? Or he?”

"His name is Max," Gabriel says, offering the small dog to Sam, who gently, reverently takes him. "And he loves people he knows, belly rubs, and strawberries."

"I love him already," Sam grins as the dog sniffs at everything in reach and then licks Sam’s chin, tail thumping. The dog’s mostly white, with black patches on his ears, smooth fur, and an energetic temperament, once he got used to the idea of a stranger holding him.

"It’s, ah, more of a loan than a gift, hope you don’t mind. He was just getting so lonely waiting for me to come back to my place all the time, and this is a good home for him. I’ll recollect him in a few decades or so."

It’s Dean who chokes. “Decades?”

Gabriel looks sheepish. “I got him a few centuries ago, and I wasn't gonna let him die.” 

Sam can say honestly that “immortal dog” was not something he expected to get for Christmas, but somehow it’s perfect. Gently placing the dog on the floor, Sam watches as he sniffs at each of the people in the room, then starts burrowing into his bedsheet. “I really appreciate it, Gabriel,” Sam says softly, rising to his knees so they’re at eye level. “Thank you; I love him. I really love him-“

"For god’s sake kiss him already," Claire snarks, and Sam certainly doesn't want to disobey. As he tilts his head up, Gabriel leans down from the arm, and, in full view of the rest of the family, accepts the heartfelt kiss. Dean whistles, of course, but Sam’s still grinning when they break the kiss a few seconds later. 

Max is settled contentedly on and under his sheet, and the rest of them seem to take it as a cue to start heading to bed, carrying their gifts and drinks, and Gabriel’s ready to head out and suddenly it’s the worst Christmas Eve of Sam’s life again. “Have to leave so soon?” Sam asks softly, wrapping an arm around the angel from behind.

"Yeah," Gabriel sighs. "I’ll leave the Christmas morning celebrations to the four of you."

Sam doesn't have the words to explain why he wants Gabriel to stay so badly- He’d known from the start it wouldn't last forever. And he knows that what they had isn't… it was just a one time thing. And he knows Gabriel has important stuff to do, and now that his wing is healed and Christmas is practically over, he has no good reason to stick around. But the end of Christmas is going to hurt this year.

Sam breathes into his ear, “You made Christmas worthwhile this year.”

Gabriel turns over his shoulder to look at the hunter. “You know, Bailey? You made it pretty special for me too. Thanks.” Sam relinquishes his grip. “You take care of Max, yeah?”

"I will."

Without any further stalling- probably for the best because Sam can feel tears welling up- Gabriel leans up and kisses him on the nose. “Merry Christmas, Sam Winchester.” And just like that, he’s gone. 

It’s only midnight; Christmas has just started, but Sam feels like the joy has been sucked right out of him. He drops to the floor and gently rests his head against Max, drawing a few shaky, grounding breaths. Tomorrow is going to be anything but merry, and tonight? Tonight, he’s going to drink the rest of the whiskey from the bottle, curl up on the floor with Max, and pretend it’s any day but Christmas.


	24. Day Twenty-four: Leaving a Gift while the Other is Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam asleep under the tree when Gabriel returns with a forgotten gift.

"Sam?"

The hunter shifts a little on the floor.

"Kiddo, what are you doing out here?"

He’s pretty sure he’s dreaming now, because Gabriel’s crouching over him, gently brushing his hair from his face. Sam makes a sleepy little sound in response.

Gabriel’s found the whiskey bottle, and frowns down at Sam, less disapproving and more hurt than Sam was expecting. “I’ll help you to bed if-“

"S’okay, I’m sobered up." His head is thumping a little, but that could also be from lying on the floor for a few hours- it has to be three or four in the morning, now. "Forget me, what are you doing here?"

Gabriel fumbles in his jacket pocket. “Forgot Max’s squeeky bone. Don’t squeak it now,” he warns, “Or he’ll make you play fetch for three hours. He’s insatiable.”

"Yeah. Okay."

"Sam." Gabriel’s clearly given up on getting Sam to sit up and look him in the eye, and instead lies down next to him, inching himself forward so he’s face to face with Sam and halfway under the tree. "What are you doing under the tree?"

"I’m a gift," Sam says with only a hint of sarcasm.

"Come on, Sam. Talk to me."

"I didn't want you to leave, okay?" Sam feels pathetic, lying here on the floor under the tree, but it’s about time he told the truth. "I miss you and it’s been six hours, tops."

Gabriel’s eyes widen, just a hair. “You too?”

Sam barely registers what Gabriel has said, plowing on with what he can’t hold in anymore, now that he understands. “All this time, I thought it was all this Christmas stuff, y’know? I thought you were giving me the best Christmas of my life- I thought I’d found the meaning of Christmas cheer in decorations and baking and shit.” Sam draws a deep breath. “But I get it now.”

"Get what?" Gabriel breathes.

"None of the stuff we did was any kind of tradition for me. There’s no meaning in it as far as memories go. But it was amazing anyway, just doing all that stuff with you, because it wasn't really about Christmas. We could have done anything." The pair of them lock eyes, lying on the floor under the tree, and Sam says finally, "You gave me your time and your affection, and… you."

There’s a long, loaded pause. Sam’s unloaded too much, he’s poured too much emotion into what was just a fun little vacation for the angel, he’s hopelessly attached to someone who doesn't want to stick around-

Gabriel abruptly rolls over, and Sam feels his heart sink for a second, but Gabriel returns holding a discarded bow from one of the presents. He sticks it to his chest with a thump and smiles. “I’m a gift. Merry Christmas.”

Sam cracks a grin despite himself. “That is the worst-“

"You’re right, you know." Gabriel interrupts. "It wouldn't have meant anything to me if it weren't for you. And… that’s kinda how Christmas spirit works. Doesn't do a lot in a lonely heart. It’s too much about humankind and your traditions and, yeah, tidings of great joy for all people."

Sam's lips twitch upwards. "That’s probably the sappiest thing I've ever heard you say, and I've heard a lot."

"You know what, I’m the Christmas angel, so suck it."

Sam bites back a teasing retort that he already did and instead just grins. “So will you stay for Christmas?”

"I will stay as long as you’re willing to put up with me."

"God, forever then," Sam breathes, and inches forward across the floor to press his forehead to Gabriel’s. "I don’t want you to leave at all."

"Good, because I’m-" Sam kisses him quiet, and honestly, the angel can get very used to this. Nobody but Sam could get away with this, because even while they’re horizontal on the hardwood floor, Sam’s taking his breath away. He doesn't actually need it, but it is gone. Sam is giving him the softest, slowest, gentlest kisses in the world, but he’s still surprised by how wonderful it is. Sam is full of surprises that way.

"This is a new way to do mistletoe," Gabriel decides, when Sam pulls back for a decent breath. "But I stand by my earlier opinion- you should be in a bed and not on the floor. May I?"

They spend the earliest hours of Christmas morning curled up together in Sam’s bed, Sam sleeping and Gabriel holding him, his little angel heart full of fireworks and more Christmas joy than he’d felt in over two thousand years.


	25. Day Twenty-five: Christmas Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most glorious Christmas day of Sam's life. Thus far.

When Sam wakes up on Christmas morning, Gabriel isn’t in the room, and a shard of dread works into his heart at the idea that last night’s conversation had been a dream. That maybe he’d picked his drunk self off the floor and gone to bed alone. He wraps a thick fleece blanket around his shoulders and crawls out of bed, and only then does he notice that Gabriel’s jacket is tossed haphazardly over the dresser. His whole body floods with relief, warm and soothing, and he lets the blanket fall. Gabriel’s here.

The smell of bacon, coffee and something warm and sweet draws him to the kitchen, though, and sure enough, Dean’s licking bacon grease off his fingers. Cas is nursing a steaming mug, and Gabriel’s pulling some kind of breakfast pastry out of the oven. There’s a santa hat crooked on Gabriel’s head, and Cas has a tiny glowing halo hovering over his. Max is dozing under the table, tiny reindeer antlers tied to his head with ribbon. Sam feels home.

"Hey. Merry Christmas, Sammy!" Dean says, and scoots the bacon plate towards an empty place at the table. "Breakfast?"

"Thanks." Sam crosses the kitchen, cups Gabriel’s chin, and kisses him. The angel leans up into it, eyes closing briefly in bliss. "Should I make you hot chocolate?" Sam offers.

"Mmm, you know me too well." Gabriel turns back to his donut-like creations. Although Cas doesn’t seem to have noticed the sudden display of affection, Dean’s giving him a slightly raised eyebrow. Dean can also stuff it, because Sam hasn’t had a morning as wonderful as this one in a long time.

Sam pulls out a mug and the cocoa tin. “Claire still asleep?”

"Yes." Cas looks up from his coffee. "Dean assures me that sleeping in at her age is ‘inevitable’ and that she’ll be ‘awake and cracking’ before too long." Sam smiles a little- hearing Castiel quote Dean never gets old. 

Sam dumps half a candy cane, a bit of chocolate, and three marshmallows into Gabriel’s cocoa before he goes to put it in the microwave. “Don’t bother,” Gabriel murmurs, taking the mug from Sam’s hands. It warms up the second Gabriel touches it, steam rising in little trails, and Sam holds on for a minute, letting that warmth flow into his hands. “Aw, you put marshmallows in. Thanks hon.” Gabriel takes his chocolate into the living room, leaving Sam suddenly standing there, faced by a slightly curious and very smug Dean.

"Gabriel’s still here," Sam offers rather sheepishly.

"So I noticed."

"And he’s staying."

"You two have an epiphany last night?" Dean’s face slowly splits into a grin. "Or was it more along the lines of-?"

"Shut up, Dean, we just talked," Sam protests. The heat from the mug seems to have migrated to his face. 

"Whatever man, I’m happy for you." Dean takes another strip of bacon.

Cas looks up, the hovering halo moving so perfectly with his head that it must have been Gabriel’s doing. “Gabriel has confessed his feelings for you?”

"Not in so many words." Sam feels like he’s reverted to high school, to the stereotypical slumber party when the group grills one member about their crush and what he’d said  _exactly._

"Don’t expect him to," Cas says abruptly. "He cares for you very much, Sam, but talking about his emotions is fairly overwhelming for him."

"Overwhelming for who?" Gabriel’s reappeared, still holding his hot chocolate but also clutching Max’s water bowl.

Dean grunts  _"No one"_ at the same time as Sam and Cas both blurt  _"Dean."_

Gabriel fills the bowl and sets it near the table before swinging into a seat. “So boys, any Christmas plans? I’ve got a list and a fully charged battery. The world’s your oyster.”

Sam shrugs. “We were kind of thinking of just sitting around the bunker. I think we could all use a day at home.”

It slips out so easily, calling the bunker  _home._ He’s been so hesitant to call it that, afraid of losing one more ‘home’. Sam hadn’t thought they’d actually stay, hadn’t thought they’d actually have the makings of a family- but they did. He had his actual brother Dean, Cas, who he’d thought of like a brother long before he’d started thinking of the angel as a brother-in-law to be, and Cas’ sort-of-daughter Claire. And now Gabriel.

It wasn’t perfect, their family, or the bunker, or their hunting life. But it was home. Sam was home for Christmas.

"Sounds perfect. It’s snowing, by the way," Gabriel replies, sipping his hot chocolate.

"Courtesy of you?" Sam asks. "I’m assuming you’re the one who manipulated the weather patterns so badly it’s snowing in forty degree weather?"

Gabriel looks up cheekily. “Merry Christmas.”

——

The family day is amazing.

Gabriel yanking him away at night to some secluded, cozy cabin in the mountains and giving him more orgasms than he’d known a man could have is more amazing. Seriously- it’s probably way too many orgasms. He’d read somewhere that you can die that way and protests weakly at one point. Gabriel laughs and assures Sam that he’s not going to let him die when he’s  _not fucking finished with him yet._ Talk about insatiable. As soon as Sam mentions sleep, though, he accepts human limitations and nestles down next to his hunter.

Halfway into the night, Sam wakes up and finds that they’re in his bed in the bunker- Gabriel must have flown them back while he was asleep, five wings and all. There are still ornaments hanging in his room, and he remembers putting them up while Gabriel helps- only twenty-five days ago. They’ll come back down and return to their box, in a week or so, waiting for next Christmas. But… Gabriel’s here to stay, if what Cas has said was true.

Maybe this wasn’t the best Christmas ever, as he’d been calling it. Maybe it was just the best one yet. Sam pillows himself down with that thought dancing in his head, and Gabriel shifts in closer, ever the cuddler. Snow falls outside and his family is warm and home and Sam’s got at angel by his side and a dog at his feet. All is calm and all is bright. Sam drifts back into deep, beautiful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're adorable, aren't they?
> 
> Thank you for reading my Christmas fluff! You can find the individual chapters (with my truly delightful tags) on my tumblr- aleatoryw.tumblr.com. I also have a tag for writing that hasn't made its way here yet. Comments, there or here, are always appreciated~


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